Hanging by the Tatters of Faith [Krystal]

[Silvanus]

They turned their backs
I made it too hard
Every place they touched me
Is a laceration now

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There was no path ahead; only the path behind. A clumsy constellation of pawprints roughly ordered in sets of three had been dragged through the earth and forest detritus with a recklessness that suggested a certain abandon, a certain indifference. The trail, occasionally punctuated by a snag of black fur caught in tree bark or a few minute drops of blood, was the exemplary testament of tangible past to inscrutable future, for its erratic stamps were being laid slowly, stumblingly by a staggering form making its way across the land with nothing to guide. More longed for than direction was numbness.

The river, a serpentine scar on Transylvania's familiar face, wended its way laterally over the land, forming a barrier of sorts. At the head of the congrouously meandering footprints, where they halted just before an intersection with the babbling waters, a heap barely darker than the night around it lay motionless. Jutting spikes of fur caked and matted with blood whittled the already emaciated form of a varg into something more like a ghoul, a shadow of a former if flawed splendor. So motionless did the creature lay, that had it been the hour for the crow or the vulture to be out, they'd have certainly swooped in the gleeful assumption of a meal. As it were, however broken the spirit and tattered the vessel, the life force remained in tact.

Silvanus rolled over slowly after a seeming eternity of stillness. He'd yearned for sleep and the natural anesthetic thereof, not even taking enough care to find a den, but it was elusive. All that played through his head was cruel shades of black and orange, burning eyes, and slashing teeth as wickedly curved as the maniacal grin to whom they belonged. He'd lost track of how long it had taken him to flee this far from the land of the Balkar; their phantoms had followed him this far and, though he was at least safe from them, he was tired of moving his feet and somehow managing to get nowhere. Just one of the faith-rending epiphanies he'd found in the black lands of the night hunters.

An array of deep punctures fanned over his maw like an elaborate, disjointed curve, and though the blood from the memento was dry, the pain was still fresh. This and a multiplicity of other wounds, though past the point of being life-threateningly serious, complicated the varg's existing handicaps. He hadn't hunted since before the incident, and pangs of hunger were chewing at him even if he refused to acknowledge them. For the time being, he only wanted to fade from existence. The other varg had been correct, was his assumption; he was a joke, a folly of the gods, a purposeless mistake. The thought occurred to him, as he lay with one-eyed vision directed out over the wide and lapping waters, that he might simply wade out into it and disappear. Superstition and faith, mangled as they were much as was his frame, held though, and the thought of a drowned soul without a resting place was enough to keep him rooted to the spot. Instead, he looked with a single golden orb, dulled by the harrowing experiences of recent memory, up to the heavens and the stars splayed out there haphazardly. Tor was nowhere to be found in the inky heavens hemmed by the tops of the evergreens. Silvanus closed his eyes and willed sleep to take him away from this land, from this brutal continuum.

Sometimes a wind comes out of nowhere
And knocks you off your feet
And look, see my tears
They fill the whole night sky

[Krystal Zanguzen]

Tor would not greet her children on this night. Her presence was obscured by the clouds that idly drifted in the heavens, making the land below unusually dark for the hour at hand. This would normally be the time of the hunter, where the brave and the bold would be out and about to find a midnight snack. The land should be rich in the stench of blood and feast, but instead all was calm and tranquil. The creatures of the terra hid themselves well and all ready the night was proving to be one that would bring a poor harvest of meet to the hunters and scavengers. Too a bi-colored ivory and ebon wolf, this was indeed a most disappointing venture. Her stomach rumbled from hunger, begging for nutrition and to have its thirst for blood quenched. But aside from a small rabbit, the hunt had not gone well and there was still much hunger yet to be satisfied.

Krystal’s venture had taken the Ge-Radian out of her usual stomping grounds. She traveled north on midnight paws to a place that had in the past yielded much success for the huntress. The journey itself had been a slow one; sidetracked by the occasional scent of a possible meal, only to be later disappointed by the result. Still, Krystal kept her hopes high that the great river would provide more opportunities for a satisfying meal. She had hoped to make the journey with other pack members, but as to be expected, Ge-Rad wolves never ventured outside their borders. More so now due to the new litter of puppies that had just been born. But the former Zanguzen had never been one to keep still in a place too long. True she missed and yearned for Ge-Rad soil, but every now and then the land beyond Ge-Rad gates called out to the lead scout. A natural sense of exploration governed the she-varg, and she could not turn a blind eye to that call.

Turning her bi-hued sapphire and emerald gaze towards the stars, she had hoped to be greeted by the sight of the goddess Tor. This night would prove to be disappointing in that aspect as well. Sighing softly, she continued her journey, till at last the Ge-Radian stood at the face of the great river. But not before she was greeted first by the crisp river air that hovered over the area like an invisible mist. She took a few long breaths; scenting the tranquility of the air and allowing it to ease her senses into a passive slumber. Krystal knew full well not to get too relaxed in this area, for just north of the river stood a land filled with monsters and demons that took the shape of wolves, savage killers and conniving schemers that would like nothing better than to govern all the land of Transylvania, and force all wolf kind under their paw. If only this river could keep them all away, trapped in the land of the north, but she knew that such a way of thinking was only wishful.

Lowering her nose to the ground, Krystal scented the terra. Lera had come by recently, no doubt to drink from the river. This was good news; it meant that a meal would no doubt make its way here if enough time was given. Perhaps this would be the proof she needed to get more Ge-Radian’s to come to this spot. The usual herds grew few and far between to sustain a pack properly, and Krystal found herself having to venture farther and farther away from home for a decent meal. The great river would prove to be an ideal substitute to feed the hungry stomach’s of Ge-Rad, assuming that Draeg and the others would listen to her words of wisdom. “I’ll wait till morning.” Krystal thought, thinking that more opportunities would present itself in the morning. That and of course, the lead scout was tired from her journey. All that was left to do was to find a safe place to turn in for the night.

However, the sudden aroma of blood would change the mood entirely. Ebon auds erected and her nose twitched as she took the scent of blood in. Had the scent of blood always been there, and if so for how long did it go unnoticed, were the questions that plagued the Ge-Radian. Regardless, a meal was a meal and even a hunter could be a scavenger when times called for it. The scent however remained elusive and obscured by the river. Try as she might, Krystal couldn’t trace the aroma to its source but knew it had to be close. She was growing frustrated and hungrier by the passing second. It was then that her scanning optics picked up a sight at the opposite shore of the river. A dark heap in a Tor-less, night lay nearly motionless minus a few twitches. Driven by hunger and instinct, Krystal rushed into the river. Thankfully the waters were calm and it was a simple swim to the other side.

At last she would have a decent meal, she could all ready taste the blood running around her maw and tickling her taste buds. It wouldn’t be long now till that image was made reality. Slowly she made her way towards the would-be meal, drenched in river water but it made no difference. Water droplets fell like waterfalls off her wet fur, and left a trail that led from the river’s edge to the sight of the creature. Now she stood before, and Krystal stood in disbelief at the sight before her. This was no meal; a broken wolf lay before her. His fur covered in dry blood and puncture wounds. No doubt involved in the poor end of a fight, there lay the defeated. It was only upon closer inspection did she notice a missing limb, this was a three legged wolf, and not just any three legged wolf. “Silvanus!” Krystal cried in horror.

[Silvanus]

Derailed and desperate
How did I get here?
Hanging from this high wire
By the tatters of my faith

Silvanus... The word spilled into the maimed varg's ear distantly, more soft pressure than actual sound. It was a fae voice, a gentle tintinnabulation in the night, a ripple on the surface of unbroken pain, constant and electric by contrast. Though his eyes were closed, Silvanus fancied it was the voice of Tor; in his mind's eye her pallid radiance appeared softly to him, his imagination and half-dreaming, half-unconscious state painting a face on a moon within the confines of his black eyelids. In a dilated sense of time, he felt as though the single word stretched on for many seconds, such that he could analyze each phoenetic nuance. In his reverie, which was simultaneously occupying hours and milliseconds simultaneously, sifting through the fading sound of his name he detected a note of dissonance. It was the sound of fear, the sound of worry, the sound of concern. Almost involuntarily, his eyes eased open, and the luminescent image of Tor he had conjured in his mind died into the suffocating blackness of the night. He was suddenly convinced that he had heard a voice, and though it was fair and kind, he realized it was not the weightless voice of a goddess. Rather, it was the consternation of a friend.

Though under the pall of a starless hour, when first his eyes opened, he could see the trees quivering, silhouetted under a heavy sky. Closer, the river waters were churning and lapping at their boundaries with a ceaseless babble. With a single-eyed ken, he could not see the source of the appeal, and though he commanded the muscles of his neck to help him at least survey his surroundings, they firmly protested and so the ebon mann lay still, his golden orb the only movement save the slow, shallow heaving of his chest as he breathed.

Licking his lips and wincing at the unexpected pain caused by movement of his torn muzzle, he inhaled with a rattle in preparation to speak. "Who..." he began, but his voice was a mere whisper. With effort, he forced the sound to and audible volume. "Who goes there? Who has the regrettable knowledge of recognition for this useless form?" His words were punishing to himself, and apologetic to the fae he could not yet see.

Silvanus moved his forepaws forward, scrabbling at the moist earth before him from his prone position. He gave up quickly, preferring to suffer no more embarrassment than his state had already put on exhibition and instead he lay still. Though the fleeting voice had sounded familiar, he could not fathom to whom it may have belonged. The philosophic gentlemen had few he could call friends, and yet out of the night an unseen soul had called his name. His spirit was broken, his corpus reduced to even less than its already less-than-whole sum for the time being, the shame of wounds compounding upon the shame of his deformation. And yet, he could not say that it was not gratitude washing over him that not only someone had arrived from oblivion to intersect his path, but that someone, an old acquaintence, cared.

OOC: So sorry for the slow reply! This month has been heck, but I'm almost out of the sudden storm of busy things.