I'll See You When the Sun Sets East(Shako/Ge-Rad)

[Lydair]

OOC: Whoo, here goes! /OOC


There was something cold and barren about the deathly white of the wet lands, the mounting collection of fresh snow empty and untouched. The alabaster terrain had adapted to the sallow breathing of the remainder of the region, waning life trickling thin. The crude silhouettes backed by gnarled fingers of blackened trees were cast impatiently against dull beryl of the firmament and there was a despondent heaviness clinging to the thick air. The shadows of ghosts of broken pasts wailed mournfully through the brittle grasses, slipping through the fissures in the ice of the frost that coated everything in an icy residue.

Pelt was a pale gray, faintly cerulean in a sense of the color that was not natural to that of the wolf. Beneath its tips was an imbued sagacity of ivory, dirtied and hanging from the curve of the belly. Its depths had at one time been stunning, but with the accumulative grime delivered by the elongated trek the coloration had darkened to a dingy cream, yellow tips receding. Pressing faintly against the sallow blue of her tainted pelage were the long pieces of rib bones, indication of her slightly emaciated state. Her fur had thinned, revealing faintly pink skin and a light webbing of veining that crisscrossed over her slender chassis and added a blue bruising, cowing her fur into something before unseen. Blackened nares flared as the lucid scent of other canines stung her senses and she blinked, small lids slipping over eyes that were stunningly cyan, ebon pupils wide as they focused on the blur of trees before her. There was a skeletal film of ache that dulled her bright eyes and she braced herself with sadness as she looked about her surroundings. Atop her intricately marked skull twin zeniths perked and twitched, curling to the reverberations of minute chirps and faint barks. The scents around the precincts of the valley were faint to her memory and a twinge of fear throbbed through her tender heart as she fought through unrecognizable distinctions. The discrepancy of her inelegant poise was disheartening, and with flattening auds she slowed, precautioning each step with stiffly correct strides.

The loneliness had become a physical thing, walking banefully beside her and becoming a painful reminder of the reminisces that she pined for. They would come- fleeting, taunting, paralyzing- and then flit away, leaving her to cleave desperately for any trace of thought that might loan evidence toward the ghosts of a former life that she was now struggling to reclaim. There had been a rekindling in her heart, a niche of sheer desperation that grated against her mind and her heart, gnawing more and more raw the frayed pieces of memories that cloyed within her. Her battered spirit was unraveled, not unlike a spool of thread that, instead of holding things together, was only pulled apart and placed aside. Utter confusion would not be a strong enough phrase to describe the mental blackness she had awoken into.

For weeks she had been unable to bring to mind faces, or even recognize anything as being vaguely familiar. Then, slowly, faces began to scrabble against her mind’s eye, blurred and always in motion. A steel-colored Varg was first, tensely muscular and she felt as if her connection to him should be apparent, instead of heart wrenching and indefinable. It was he who blistered her dreams most often, providing her with both a sense of hopelessness at her inability to distinguish his identity as well as a fainter pull towards Home. She could not command his visage to appear, but it was the times when it did, when the hazy edges of his maw and the indistinct hue of his orbs sharpened, that she felt the most alive, that her sense of despondency waned and was replaced by a strong will to remember and find him.

Not long after, and in quick succession, other faces began to pass across her mind’s eye, adding to her confusion. A white Varg, as well as an amber one, began to speak in her dreams, not nearly so much to her as to each other, or to the air, before turning and walking into the distance, yet always coming back. Half a fortnight later, a trio of faceless pups begged pleadingly at all, forcing her into a torment that wasn’t settled until her steel-colored savior herded them away...yet leaving her, once again, alone and without a reason or a rhyme for the visions in her head. Yet she had a sinking suspicion that, upon re-acquaintance with these nameless Vargs, something would click in her head and she would once again feel mentally whole.

The amber and white mann Vargs were inevitably the ones that throbbed the least; especially when compared to the frequency of the faceless pups and the handsome (albeit battered) mann faces. Their images began to follow her thoughts as shadows, ghosts, of her broken past. And yet every time she could nearly fathom their names, moments before memories of them were unlocked and poured from the lockbox her mind kept them in, they slipped away, leaving her with a tangible feeling of regret, anxiety, and self-hatred. She had begun to consider- no, obsessively fantasize about- the idea that they might be her pups, that perhaps the steel-gray wolf had been her lover, and that they were waiting for her arrival. A thin ripple of recollection whispered against her, kissed her damaged, bruised brain with a start and it was then she realized she had to find her way back Home.

Yet this, this forgotten land that invaded her senses with that of a thousand different Vargs, that of muted, faded blood from long-since decomposed kills and meaningless rifts, that prickly scent of hormones…this was not Home. Nothing here sparked her memory or sent her heart leaping against it’s emaciated cage. Her flooded, brimming senses searched anxiously in vain for any trace of something identifiable. With an exhausted effort, she let herself crumple slowly to the ground, smoothly tapered maw opening in a single howl, mournful beyond words.

[Shakó]

((omg so sorry such a horrible post, I'm really rusty))

A thin frame of silver and ivory disturbed the perfect white wrinkleless blanket of freshly fallen snow. Panting heavily in an expression of obvious bitter exhaustion, the large framed varg was gradually slowing his pace. He walked with a limp, the cause was a wound he sustained in his back leg quite some time ago, the infection that had nested itself had really left his leg mangled beyond repair preventing it from regaining proper function. His pale pink tongue lolled from his agape maw, as an abundant of fur rolled over his once healthy thick frame, it was obvious the wolf had lost an abundant of mass over a small period of time. His eyes looked sunken in, though still they fought to hold that same sparkling gold that he was plagued with since the beginning of his times. The wolf looked like an elder, for his pelt failed to thicken this year, letting him maintain his silvery belly, legs, and facial features.
His cause of sickness was not because the mann was quite old, in fact he was in the prime of his life. The only true sign of disease was the copper colour of fur in the corner of his mouth, a stain of the dibbles of blood that escaped from his maw numerous times. As much as he tried to hide it, he knew that even now his degrading experience gave him away.

So what was such a sickly mann doing in the middle of nowhere? Even he didn’t really know. Shako knew he wasn’t long to this world, and maybe it was that feeling that brought him to travel where he had never traveled since he was a lost little pup. Even so, he knew he had to get out of Ge-Rad, at least for a little while. Draeg was determined to keep him settled in the den, not wanting him to overexert himself, to keep him “safe”. Now, Shakó had always been a very obedient subordinate, but the one thing he couldn’t tolerate was being pushed aside, just because he was “broken”. Shakó growled lowly to himself, just the thought of it made him sick.

Ivory audits prickled to a melody that seemed to bellow across the frozen earth, making the male’s head lift and cock curiously. It was ironic, the voice seemed distressed and broken beyond repair, and still something about these vocals brought a warm feeling back into his bones, something he hadn’t felt in a very long time. This feeling- it was overwhelming, he couldn’t help himself but bound forward into the world unknown as fast of a pace as his frail body would let him.
It wasn’t long before gold lanterns fell upon an oddly shaped form in the snow, a weakened and distressed form. Always wanting to do the right thing, the mann stepped towards the tired weakened femme. Licking his silver lips, Shakó lowered his head, giving a soft whine as if to say “Hello” in a non-threatening way.

[Lydair]

Hope had begun to fail her as gentle flakes began to fall, mottling her once-beautiful pelt with dots of white that melted almost before they sank into her thin fur. She shivered as she released the note she was holding and tucked her small muzzle around toward her chest, curling her sickle-shaped tassel close to her body in a feeble effort to maintain some degree of warmth. Dolefully she let her lids slide closed over pained orbs and felt an utterly bleak despair rise in her ribs. The hybrid had never felt so alone; even her own mind was failing her and this terrain was nothing accommodating. The austere landscape seemed to stretch on for miles. The thick wind buffered her fur as she braced herself against the cold, pinning her auds against her small skull and, grinding her teeth, Lydair whimpered softly to herself through closed lips. Not that had expected one, but there had been no returning howl- for all she knew, Home was still a country away.

Quite suddenly, her nose prickled with a scent that, carried by the fierce wind, drew an unexpected twinge from somewhere inside her, and she lifted her head tiredly, world-weary orbs blinking curiously. Through the lightly falling snow that zigzagged around her, Lydair thought she could see a form moving- if though at an odd, offbeat pace- towards her. Knowing the full vulnerability she was in- mentally, physically, and emotionally- the cobalt hybrid tucked her tail tighter and flattened her ears, pressing her body as close to the ground as possible. As the white mann approached her, Lydair licked her lips in fear and attempted to back away, keeping her eyes on the paws of the forthcoming Varg.

It wasn’t until the sallow he-wolf lowered his own head and voiced a quiet whine that she tilted her head and made hesitant eye contact- when she did, however, her heart seemed to collide with her chest before it’s quivering throbbing was reduced to a mild fluttering. Astounded, she did naught but stare disbelievingly into the wolf’s shocking amber orbs, shaking her head as if she was trying to knock a vision from mental view. When the mann did not fade, however, she accepted his form as genuine, and, licking her dry lips, voiced with a cracked whimper, “Shako?”

The name was simultaneously alien and self-renewing, as if the fact that her bruised and damged brain could remember something as simple as her once-companion’s name a great and powerful feat. Breath frosting the air, Lydair lifted herself to her paws on quivering limbs and stared at the other, limp banner now curling over her back. This mann did not match perfectly with the one in her dreams- he looked rather sickly, and the skin overdrew itself across his haunches and shoulders- but the eyes…the eyes were unmistakable. “I’ve seen you,” she said, her voice high and rushed, as if she was on the edge of some great emotion. “You, and others.”. The sentence was vague, but her thoughts, clinging together ina fit of excitement and uncertainity, were beginning to cloud, and she did not know what to say.

[Shakó]

//very sorry, I was waiting to see if someone else would reply, and then I just kinda- forgot ^^; Deepest apologies dear.//

The gentle wind tugged at the mann’s shallow coat, sending a shiver down his nearly protruding spine. There was no getting used to the tingling feeling, as Shakó bit his lip and shook his pelt in a sort of habit. His mind never left on how familiar this hybrid looked, he knew her, that was for sure. As she looked up at him, at first defensively, her gaze has softened as she spoke his name as a barely audible whimper.

At the sound of her melody the silver ivory beta cocked his head curiously as he racked his brain. Surely, this she-varg must have at once been in Ge-Rad, the pack had been Shakó’s home for just about his whole life. He studied her features- they were very similar, very similar to Kaemon- “Lydair?” the mann said breathlessly, his gold oculars widening in disbelief. The last time Shakó saw his heart sister, she was very well formed and healthy. He had thought for sure the hybrid had left to follow her mate, possibly to a place where no one knew them, even though it sounded like an outrageously odd thing for the healer to do. Watching her rise to her paws slowly, almost like an elder with arthritis. It almost broke his heart, to see her like this. Never, ever did he image to find her in such a vulnerable and frail state.

“Seen me?” Shakó asked questioningly, but didn’t think much of it. ‘She must mean in her dreams, in her memory;’ he thought to himself. Without thinking the beta took a couple steps forward, pressing his head gently on her neck as a gesture of affection. “I’ve seen you too, and hoped one day you would return. It’s been a long couple of winters, but they’re still there, the pack. Ge-Rad. Draeg, and your son, he still lingers about- him and his mate and children.” Shakó hoped this would lift the mood of the fragile feamme.
Questions popped into Shakó’s head, as he silently wondered where Lydiar could have possibly been all this time, and how she came upon this state. There was so much he wanted to tell Lydiar, so much he wanted to ask- but for now, he would just have to wait.

[Lydair]

OOC: No worries xD And sorry if it seems all patchy and stuff, I wrote it real quick and my only excuse is that her brain's sorta patchy, so maybe that'll explain it


The cobalt femme shook her head in a violent flurry of motion, as if a physical reprimand could banish all uncertainty from her wounded mind. She tried focusing her mind's eye on the ivory Varg, relief flooding her veins as if finally being able to conjure up a name and place next to a face lifted some terrible anathema that had been keeping one puzzle piece of her brain under lock and key. Her gaze was relentless; his golden orbs were a sort of medicine for her and they kept her transfixed, as if she was secretly hoping that, somewhere within them, her past was written out, ready to return itself to her mind at last. Even his voice- incredulous as he spoke her name- created a sort of strain in her auds; how lucky had she been, that the first wolf she had stumbled into was one that knew her, let alone one that had been haunting her mind's eye for such a long time? Lydair shivered, out of both the taunting of the bitter cold and an inexplainable happiness that was welling inside of her. Shako, it seemed, was the first step toward finding Home.

She could do little but simply stand there, cyan eyes gazing tiredly up at Shako with a sort of deadened glaze, though, somewhere behind them had to be lurking that spark of spirit that the little hybrid had always harbored. Shako's question tugged at her senses but she didn't lift her weary muzzle in an answer; she had none, for the thought had already passed and she could not yet summon back her thoughts with any sort of rapidity. The alabaster wolf padded toward her and nuzzled her neck, and she gave a long, soft whine, letting her lids slide close. With a deep inhalation she let his scent wash over her, and small bits of memories montaged themselves for a brief instant- though as quickly as they had appeared they had performed a torturous vanishing act, and were gone, flitting away to that distant place where everything important about her life was hiding itself away.

Ge-Rad. The name clouted her like a sack of bricks and it caused her to physically stumble backwards a step or two, blinking and her slender maw parting in a question that was almost inaudibly voiced. ”Ge-Rad?” She asked, her gaze moving to the far horizon. ”Home? Can we go now? Is it far?” Draeg. Again, the name came as a reassuring shock; surely, if Shako had mentioned him, he must have been one of the others. And then, as something as a miracle to the she-wolf, that image of the amber dragga, the tail exceptionally bushy, came into view and a shaky smile formed itself across her features.

As mind-clearing as 'Ge-Rad' and 'Draeg' had been, it was Shako's last phrase that brought Lydair to her knees, metaphorically speaking. The words hung in the air and were followed by nothing but silence for a long, drawn-out minute. ”My son?” The bi-hued fae spoke, choosing her words carefully. ”I wasn't wrong, then. She smiled, an exhausted smile that was partially happiness and partially one that was stinging. She hated herself for this, for her inability to recall anything. She could guess, between the three faceless, unknown cubs of her mind's eye, that he had to either be tawny or steel-colored, but out of nowhere, it seemed, a barrage of questions hit the air. ”How old is he? Does he remember me? What does he look like?” A mental gasp made her stop, and her brow furrowed in a thought that racked her brain. Kaemon, she thought herself, and then said the name aloud. ”Is his name Kaemon? Shako, how long have I been gone?” And then, ”Please...will you take me Home?”

[Shakó]

((oh look! A better post! Sorry again for the wait, I honestly can’t believe it’s been a month. Oye and sorry for the ending, I‘m not sure where this is supposed to go?))

As the gentle hybrid healer stood before him, her mind at work exploring Tor knows what, Shakó’s memory was also kicking into gear. They were so young when they met- and of course, the pack of Ge-Rad was just forming under the rule of the amber Dragga Draeg. How foolish Shakó had been that long ago, he was blind to the emotions of which were stirring in the fae’s mind, oblivious to her unsubtle signals: though he had always saw her as a sister, loved her and would take care of her. Not that she needed it, Lydair was a free spirit and perfectly able to take care of her own- but if she ever needed him, he would be there without a moment’s hesitation.

And now, as he looked at her semi-empty gaze, he knew she did. He frowned a little, there was something missing- besides her physical appearance. Now more than ever Shakó wanted to know what happened to her, how she came to such a pathetic and vulnerable state- it was the brother talking, the instinct to heal and protect. However, he was afraid- afraid that if he did dare speak of gaining knowledge of something perhaps so secretive and intimate from her, she would only reject him and push him aside. Besides, whatever hell she’s been through- he didn’t want to put her through again. No, not now- when she was ready.
Little did he know that she may never remember- still, time was the key element. Things like this took time- something Shakó may not exactly have a lot of. Fortunate for him, seeing and helping an old friend gave him another reason to wake each morning for the start of a new day.

The mann’s newfound hope was reduced a little, and once again he frowned at the fae’s questioning look. He didn’t get it, did she forget? Or, did she think it was no long her home? “Yes, Ge-Rad- you’ll always be welcome there Lydair, whatever you may think. Some have left, others have joined- it’s still a warm and welcoming place.” He so hoped this would help her, encourage her. Show her she’s not forgotten, and still cherished in the memories of those who were fortunate enough to cross paths with the cobalt hybrid. “It’s not too far- just a couple suns.”

New hopes were reinstalled when the fae heard the mention of her son- something inside seemed too click, somewhat like when mentioning Ge-Rad, except with a more solid response. Shakó’s banner waved slowly but happily as he was bombarded with a boatload of new questions. “He’ll be three I believe- but he still acts like quite the pup. He’s also quite the little mischief maker. He has his mother’s charming looks, with a coat made of orangish-browns and creams.” Shakó laughed at that last thought, playing back clips of his silly nephew. “He’s getting older now- like I said, he’s a father of four- his mate, the ebon Fae Ayasha.”
He was happy something clicked, but still worried- he doubted she was in the right mind. His natural curiosity burned, “Lydair- I’ve known you for seasons- you don’t remember much, do you?” Shakó asked, in a worried voice. "But if you don't- if you need help, I'm here- let me help you," the mann added quickly, in an almost pleading voice, curling his audits back.
“You‘ve been gone for- well, nearly two years. But- I can take you home, to Ge-Rad- we can go now, or whenever you wish-”