Post by Depth on May 30, 2010 8:58:16 GMT -5
This randomly came into my head. I'll add more later, because I'm alternating between this and an essay on Surrealism.
The night was a cold one, and flurries of snow whirled around outside. In the damp depths of the cavern, two grey wolf pups snuggled up to their mother and begged for a story. The Drappa sighed, and said "Do you know that dogs are Vargs too?"
The cubs' eyes opened wide and they gasped. "If dogs are Vargs, why do they hunt us?" piped Halo, the oldest. "That is what this story is about" said Cinnamon, and she began to tell her tale.
"Once upon a time, there was a pack of grey Vargs, like us. They were strong, brave and clever." The cubs' tails began to wag furiously."All except the Sikla. He was the lowest of all the Siklas in the land. He was cowardly, foolish and stupid. No Varg knew why he had been taken in by such a brave pack, but it was so that they could laugh at him and feel better." Halo began to growl and jump around. The Drappa snarled and she quietened immediately, letting her mother continue with her tale. "One day, after a particularly bad argument, the Sikla left the pack, tears streaming down his face. He ran all the way to Man's settlement, and begged them to let him in. Man let him sleep by his warm burning air, and gave him some of his tame Lera to eat. But, in return, the Sikla had to hunt for the Man, he had to protect his dens, and he never got to run free as a Varg again. Eventually, he relied on Man so much that he hunted the Varg, and was never a true Varg again." How did the Sikla learn to talk to Men?" asked Cappela. "Don't ask silly questions" said Cinnamon vaguely.
At the back of the cave, three more wolves lay. The Betas were out hunting, the Dragga, Zuir, stood at the mouth of the cave, waiting for the Betas and standing guard, and the subordinates were chatting about the day's hunt of the small Lera.
But at the very back, among the stalagmites, lay the Sikla. His name was Ink and he was a very dark blue with startling green eyes. As he heard yet another fable about how it made the Varg feel better to be horrible to Siklas tears sprang to his grass-colured orbs. He felt a deep throbbing in his skull and a feeling of death, blood-his pack-mudered-pain-fear....
Ink leapt down the hill, the snow obscuring his pawprints almost before he made them. His pack screamed after him, but he was terrified for his life and would not stop for Wolfbane himself. He hurtled through the snow, tripping and stumbling, then he fell over a stone, the ground rushing towards him in slow motion, his mind fading onto blackness...
TO BE CONTINUED....
What did you think? PM me
The night was a cold one, and flurries of snow whirled around outside. In the damp depths of the cavern, two grey wolf pups snuggled up to their mother and begged for a story. The Drappa sighed, and said "Do you know that dogs are Vargs too?"
The cubs' eyes opened wide and they gasped. "If dogs are Vargs, why do they hunt us?" piped Halo, the oldest. "That is what this story is about" said Cinnamon, and she began to tell her tale.
"Once upon a time, there was a pack of grey Vargs, like us. They were strong, brave and clever." The cubs' tails began to wag furiously."All except the Sikla. He was the lowest of all the Siklas in the land. He was cowardly, foolish and stupid. No Varg knew why he had been taken in by such a brave pack, but it was so that they could laugh at him and feel better." Halo began to growl and jump around. The Drappa snarled and she quietened immediately, letting her mother continue with her tale. "One day, after a particularly bad argument, the Sikla left the pack, tears streaming down his face. He ran all the way to Man's settlement, and begged them to let him in. Man let him sleep by his warm burning air, and gave him some of his tame Lera to eat. But, in return, the Sikla had to hunt for the Man, he had to protect his dens, and he never got to run free as a Varg again. Eventually, he relied on Man so much that he hunted the Varg, and was never a true Varg again." How did the Sikla learn to talk to Men?" asked Cappela. "Don't ask silly questions" said Cinnamon vaguely.
At the back of the cave, three more wolves lay. The Betas were out hunting, the Dragga, Zuir, stood at the mouth of the cave, waiting for the Betas and standing guard, and the subordinates were chatting about the day's hunt of the small Lera.
But at the very back, among the stalagmites, lay the Sikla. His name was Ink and he was a very dark blue with startling green eyes. As he heard yet another fable about how it made the Varg feel better to be horrible to Siklas tears sprang to his grass-colured orbs. He felt a deep throbbing in his skull and a feeling of death, blood-his pack-mudered-pain-fear....
Ink leapt down the hill, the snow obscuring his pawprints almost before he made them. His pack screamed after him, but he was terrified for his life and would not stop for Wolfbane himself. He hurtled through the snow, tripping and stumbling, then he fell over a stone, the ground rushing towards him in slow motion, his mind fading onto blackness...
TO BE CONTINUED....
What did you think? PM me