Post by Cinder on May 22, 2009 16:47:13 GMT -5
Rain pounded unmercifully from the heavens. Currents of cold air blasted through the one pleasant spring air. The night sky had been obscured by opaque and sinister rain clouds early in the evening, making it seem that darkness had fallen all too quickly. It had driven all Lera within the storm’s reach into their dens and shelters. Well, almost all the Lera. The sane ones.
A sickly thin figure staggered through the brush. Eyes, one a blazing yellow, the other a deep shade of amethyst were blurry and almost unseeing. Her gray pelt, unusually brindled with stripe-like lines of black, was almost completely drenched with mud. The filth masked her face as well, but did little to hide the scarred side. Even through the muck, her face still glistened with the large furless scar that twisted and knotted over the right half of her façade. The creature’s head hung low, as did her scraggly tail, which dragged through the dirt behind her. She had always been odd looking, even diseased looking. But right now, the Seer of the Vale had never looked worse.
She had no idea what part of the forest she had come to, nor did she know how she had arrived there. All she knew was that it was raining, that she was bleeding, and that Tron was dead.
Tron, her little one. Dead. The scene played again in her mind, over and over. How that snow white brute had torn into her adoptive son’s throat. How she had heard his cries, and found him, trying desperately to pull of the assailant. How, in the end, Tron and the other male had killed on another. And how she had arrived too late to save him. Since then she had left the part of the forest that she had long called home, abandoning her precious Vale, and wandering aimlessly for what had been the entire length of winter. She had made contact with no one, not even answering to the demon, Lamia, who haunted her mind and body.
Or had she? The she-wolf shook her head, trying to remember her journey. Nothing. It was as if she had just woken up while sleepwalking. She tried to tap into her Seeing abilities, but found herself growing faint with the effort. It was too much, she was just too weak.
A hoarse laughing erupted in her head, and at first she growled menacingly at Lamia. But then terror swept over her, and the next thing she new, she was running as fast as her shaking limbs could carry her. Her maw parted with pained breaths, her rough voice cracking as she screamed “Stop, just stop!” repeatedly. But the laughter continued.
Her turbulent flight was abruptly ended as she blindly ran into something hard. Agony shot through her muzzle and she fell onto her side. Her legs sprawled and writhed in her pain. She tried to rise, but her thin muscles refused to do anything, even lift her head. Had her senses been clearer, she would have known immediately that she had stumbled upon a long-abandoned human settlement, and that she was now lying in the old churchyard amongst dozens of human graves. But, considering the storm and the horrid state she was in, the Seer could only see as far as her eyes could wander, which wasn’t far. She could just make out what it was that she had collided with; a smooth stone… something, scrawled with human markings, jutting up out of the ground before her.
Dizziness took over her once more, making the stone thing towering over her sway and duplicate repeatedly. She allowed her eyes to close, filling her mind with images of her lost son. If she were to die here, it would be with memories of him.
//you’ll have to forgive this horrid post. i’m severely out of practice.//
A sickly thin figure staggered through the brush. Eyes, one a blazing yellow, the other a deep shade of amethyst were blurry and almost unseeing. Her gray pelt, unusually brindled with stripe-like lines of black, was almost completely drenched with mud. The filth masked her face as well, but did little to hide the scarred side. Even through the muck, her face still glistened with the large furless scar that twisted and knotted over the right half of her façade. The creature’s head hung low, as did her scraggly tail, which dragged through the dirt behind her. She had always been odd looking, even diseased looking. But right now, the Seer of the Vale had never looked worse.
She had no idea what part of the forest she had come to, nor did she know how she had arrived there. All she knew was that it was raining, that she was bleeding, and that Tron was dead.
Tron, her little one. Dead. The scene played again in her mind, over and over. How that snow white brute had torn into her adoptive son’s throat. How she had heard his cries, and found him, trying desperately to pull of the assailant. How, in the end, Tron and the other male had killed on another. And how she had arrived too late to save him. Since then she had left the part of the forest that she had long called home, abandoning her precious Vale, and wandering aimlessly for what had been the entire length of winter. She had made contact with no one, not even answering to the demon, Lamia, who haunted her mind and body.
Or had she? The she-wolf shook her head, trying to remember her journey. Nothing. It was as if she had just woken up while sleepwalking. She tried to tap into her Seeing abilities, but found herself growing faint with the effort. It was too much, she was just too weak.
A hoarse laughing erupted in her head, and at first she growled menacingly at Lamia. But then terror swept over her, and the next thing she new, she was running as fast as her shaking limbs could carry her. Her maw parted with pained breaths, her rough voice cracking as she screamed “Stop, just stop!” repeatedly. But the laughter continued.
Her turbulent flight was abruptly ended as she blindly ran into something hard. Agony shot through her muzzle and she fell onto her side. Her legs sprawled and writhed in her pain. She tried to rise, but her thin muscles refused to do anything, even lift her head. Had her senses been clearer, she would have known immediately that she had stumbled upon a long-abandoned human settlement, and that she was now lying in the old churchyard amongst dozens of human graves. But, considering the storm and the horrid state she was in, the Seer could only see as far as her eyes could wander, which wasn’t far. She could just make out what it was that she had collided with; a smooth stone… something, scrawled with human markings, jutting up out of the ground before her.
Dizziness took over her once more, making the stone thing towering over her sway and duplicate repeatedly. She allowed her eyes to close, filling her mind with images of her lost son. If she were to die here, it would be with memories of him.
//you’ll have to forgive this horrid post. i’m severely out of practice.//
//
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