The thunder has begun [open]

[Shakó]

//It's been a while, Imma bit rusty- figured I'd star out somewher neutral. open for any- the more the merrier. //

[/color]

Gold oculars spied upon a sky of grey coverage, the distant rumbling of the gods above could be felt penetrating through his chest. Black crows cawed obnoxiously from the naked branches above, but the pests of the lands of Transylvania didn’t seem to bother the silver and ivory varg that weaved through the trees below. In fact, shako didn’t mind the birds at all, he didn’t bother to lift an ear to them. For many moons now he had found himself in solitude, with only the sound of the nature around him.

The reasons of the large beta mann’s straying about were unknown even to him at this point. He knew when he had left, he was ill- or rather borderline. For a while now, the mann was aware of a change in his health, not only the infection that grew in his back left leg, but rather a kind of illness that grew in his stomach. This illness had seemed to be growing over the past couple of years, making him occasionally vomit the blood that had somehow collected into his stomach. At times, he would have episodes that crippled him with pain and causing a state of anorexia, thus resulting in weight loss and muscle wasting. The once solid, mighty Beta of Ge-Rad had become nothing more than a frail castaway. At least, that’s what he felt.

Fortunes turned when the pack’s healer, Lydiar, was able to concoct a special blend of herbs that have helped not only Shako’s infection, but also calm his angered gut. It wasn’t a cure, but a treatment.
Even if it was just a treatment- it helped. Shako had regained his appetite, and slowly the weight and muscle that had been wasted away. Maybe that is why he had left all those moons ago, to regain what he had lost; his strength and respect.

Silver paws halted in mid step, Shako’s mind flickered back to reality for a moment as he felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle. Ivory audits pricked curiously, as golden oculars scanned the white forest. Flakes of snow delicately began to fall from the sky, as another clap of thunder shook the earth. From his right, a shuffling sound could be heard just ten feet from where the male stood frozen, snapping his head towards the sound. Of course, the source had only been a hare digging through the blanket of snow, scavenging for anything he could find that was edible. Shako let out a sigh as his body relaxed, feeling a bit silly he had let himself go so worked up over a stupid hare.
Shako licked his lips, turning away from the prey before him. The rusty colour on the chin of his maw and distended abdomen was a tell sign that he had eaten not too long ago; the hare would surely become prey to another puntar in need. Shaking his head, the large brute carried on forward, the distant sound of water beneath a frozen surface not too far off in the distance. Still, he couldn’t completely shake off his warry feeling- the mann didn’t let down his guard completely as he carried on.

Black crows circling up above
Crying out, “do you hear that sound?”
never thought it’d come to this
Paradise raised to the ground

[/blockquote]

[qi]

Everything around me is at peace. The forest is never in disarray, not like politics or even the lives of normal people. I try to appreciate the scenery as I walk, try to sense all that there is to smell, taste, touch, hear. I've been too concerned with my history lately and this idea of winter as death. One of my caretakers had always told me that too much reflection was to waste time, to waste life. Because memory is time folding back on itself. To remember is to disengage from the present.* Reminiscing is wasting time I could be using to make more memories.

The world has been bleached bare. Everything is bones. White and cold and a lonely echo of life. I'm starting to feel malicious towards the snow, and sometimes I purposefully make noise by stepping on a stick or dragging my nails across a stone.

And as soon as my spacial orientation gives me the feeling that someone is close by, I decide to disregard the sense. No, not really. I kind of forcefully pretend that I don't suspect someone to be near me and continue to make noise, hoping they'll notice me. It seems fair that they'd treat me alright, since I'm an nonthreatening young girl and couldn't possibly hurt a wolf, if a wolf was what lingered nearby.

*Garth Stein, The Art of Racing in the Rain