Post by Skoll on Dec 27, 2011 21:14:05 GMT -5
On the forlorn outspot where the end of the lake met the purloined rise of each undulating and basket-bare hill eastward of the meadow the wraith stood; cold and still like some lost revenant in a burning and catastrophic world. Like a certain sentinel awaiting the final sundown before the insensate world turned one last time and the sun turned distant and unremitting black. He stood on that crested rise and seemed to salute the desolate landscape with his tall and darkly poetic body; where his paws met the dull and uncomprehending earth there seemed an affinity there -- as if he were pulled not by some gravitational pull but by some deathly and hallowed one. The wind sifted through his fur like a sieve; in the same manner it shifted his coarse coat it ruffled his calloused soul, and with a forlorn gaze he swept the purloined landscape with bleak and cheerless eyes.
He didn't feel much like doing anything but stand there. In that dejected frontier where the snow rose from the frozen ground like a primal monster with jaws cold and relentless. As if some god had cast upon the banal world his final and last blessing; as if he had become too painfully cognizant of the struggling life below him and in a fit of mercy had sought well to erase it.
But whatever pull of nature hadn't; still beneath the dull and grey skies life pulsed with intermittent fury. Skoll watched from his stand; the toil of the varg and the idle chatter of the few lera hanging around..
And with a sigh he eased himself onto his belly and sat there a while; his usually violent eyes closed and the sleek line of his muzzle writ in some blank and forgotten expression of seldom-seen contentment.
He didn't feel much like doing anything but stand there. In that dejected frontier where the snow rose from the frozen ground like a primal monster with jaws cold and relentless. As if some god had cast upon the banal world his final and last blessing; as if he had become too painfully cognizant of the struggling life below him and in a fit of mercy had sought well to erase it.
But whatever pull of nature hadn't; still beneath the dull and grey skies life pulsed with intermittent fury. Skoll watched from his stand; the toil of the varg and the idle chatter of the few lera hanging around..
And with a sigh he eased himself onto his belly and sat there a while; his usually violent eyes closed and the sleek line of his muzzle writ in some blank and forgotten expression of seldom-seen contentment.
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