Post by lakaraxxthexxwolf on Apr 16, 2009 17:34:44 GMT -5
Cold chills ran up the spine of the wolf as the wind rushed by. Disturbing and eerie was the sound it brought; high pitched howls as if all the wolves that had lost their lives on these very hills were crying out, warning curious wanderers to stay away. Only fools and the overly confident whelps would dare to travel to an extremely dangerous area such as this one. One misstep, one slip, one second of attention deficiency, you would fall; tumble down the rocks that would most certainly take one’s life. And yet, they dared. The Vargs of the land would scramble up the loose boulders, praying to the Gods that their fate would not be sealed and that their spirit would not be destined to roam their place of death forever. The chilling screams of the air’s current continued on, haunting all those who pressed their pads against the dull, lifeless stone. These hills belonged to the ever treacherous terrain of the mountains.
The hot and sickening heat of summer was starting to diminish. No longer was the air filled with moisture and humidity, an uncomfortable sensation for any creature with fur. Now the breezes were cool and comforting and provided relief. But this was only the beginning of what was to soon come with the simple, sweet breezes. Snow and sleet accompanied by storms and freezing temperatures was just around the corner. Down below in the valleys and meadows, this sense was not yet present. The higher elevation revealed hidden secrets that nature was keeping from the animals. Ah, the memories of winter. Months of starvation plagued the wolves. Those who could find food were lucky and those that couldn’t, well, they’re with the Gods now.
This Varg remembered last year’s frozen season. The most noble of hunters end up stealing and feeding on carrion, behaving like scavengers instead of predators. Winter was what transformed a wolf into a vulture. Most would conceal their demeaning strategy to survive. Others, like this wanderer, didn’t care who saw her eating what. Snarfing down ice-caked meat was better than dying a slow, agonizing death from not eating anything at all. Anything she could do to keep her belly full, she would do it.
Despite being one who was unaccompanied and dared to travel in the mountains, the fae was not a loner. She actually was in the pack or Deor now and she was very happy about that. Her name was Ryku. Her pelt was the darkest of ebony with pale scars scattered throughout. Bright amber oculars stared out over the lowlands, watching the world pass by. The Herla were present in the valley between the hills. Bucks were getting rowdy. The velvet covering on their antlers were in the process of shedding. Fueled by testosterone and new found strength, the stags challenged each other and would participate in mild spars, practicing for the real battles they would be required to face to win the hearts of the hinds. Takhi enjoyed watching their lives progress as autumn neared.
Sitting on her haunches, the shadowy predator stared
The hot and sickening heat of summer was starting to diminish. No longer was the air filled with moisture and humidity, an uncomfortable sensation for any creature with fur. Now the breezes were cool and comforting and provided relief. But this was only the beginning of what was to soon come with the simple, sweet breezes. Snow and sleet accompanied by storms and freezing temperatures was just around the corner. Down below in the valleys and meadows, this sense was not yet present. The higher elevation revealed hidden secrets that nature was keeping from the animals. Ah, the memories of winter. Months of starvation plagued the wolves. Those who could find food were lucky and those that couldn’t, well, they’re with the Gods now.
This Varg remembered last year’s frozen season. The most noble of hunters end up stealing and feeding on carrion, behaving like scavengers instead of predators. Winter was what transformed a wolf into a vulture. Most would conceal their demeaning strategy to survive. Others, like this wanderer, didn’t care who saw her eating what. Snarfing down ice-caked meat was better than dying a slow, agonizing death from not eating anything at all. Anything she could do to keep her belly full, she would do it.
Despite being one who was unaccompanied and dared to travel in the mountains, the fae was not a loner. She actually was in the pack or Deor now and she was very happy about that. Her name was Ryku. Her pelt was the darkest of ebony with pale scars scattered throughout. Bright amber oculars stared out over the lowlands, watching the world pass by. The Herla were present in the valley between the hills. Bucks were getting rowdy. The velvet covering on their antlers were in the process of shedding. Fueled by testosterone and new found strength, the stags challenged each other and would participate in mild spars, practicing for the real battles they would be required to face to win the hearts of the hinds. Takhi enjoyed watching their lives progress as autumn neared.
Sitting on her haunches, the shadowy predator stared
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