So many things that I would like to understand
If we are born to die and we all die to live
Then what's the point of living life if it just contradicts?</i> - <b>The Drug In Me Is You</b></blockquote>
The she-wolf mauled plants over like a trunk, refusing to walk around. She left a trail of nature broken behind her, each sparkling flower tilted at the stem. That was how she felt. Such a promising creation now tore to a useless bent piece of shit. She was still fresh from the battle. Her wounds didn’t sting as badly as they could have. The experienced male had left damage, but not enough to seriously impact her daily routine, or not physically. Had she not prepared herself for the experience, the mental trauma would have left her paralyzed. She still explored and hunted, yet her mouth was dry and left a sour residue on her cheeks. She was thirsty, continuously licking her mouth. Her mottled fur made contact with a small bush, but she didn’t hesitate nor walk around. It was in her way. Yet again she tore through, refusing to whimper as it made contact with spots still tender. After dealing with Marsh she found no amount of pain would seep through her voice, pain didn’t result in whining. Her own crying was now a foreign sound. Her howling was more known. She stayed up at night and sang to others of her kind, sorrowful and longing, explaining her life in a few short notes. It was like medicine, seeping her troubles away.
Treena stumbled into the clearing without noticing, the water reflecting the blue sky magically. Her limbs bunched up like a feline, and she debated pouncing into the water. Yet, the wolf didn’t have the heart to show such youth. Instead her face stayed chiseled and well defined, unreadable as her paws dragged forward. A pink tongue, one more like a swab of bubble gum, unwrapped from her perfectly perched muzzle and lapped at the water desperately. She swallowed in pleasure, her throat trembling in a slight moan. She could feel the strength returning to her paws, with each stroke of the solid cold ground she felt like herself. Instead of grabbing hold of the water with her tongue, she lowered her entire head and opened her jaw, letting the fluid drift in with a large mouthful. It drenched her entire muzzle, even her throat was dripping. It was addicting, but she was satisfied and no longer had a need for being greedy.
She couldn’t stand the weight on her chest. Water was clinging onto her fur, pulling her down. She shook, sending the droplets flying. A couple landed back into the water, a small plunk as they hit the water. The sounds of the wild eased her troubles, the calling of nearby birds and the wind blowing through her pelt. It all sounded like home. The wolf stepped forward, attracted by her reflection. Her eyes narrowed, not blinking as she watched her own figure. She was well groomed. The she-wolf always took good care of her beauty. There was a slight pink scar noticeable on her fur, from her cheekbone to the start of her neck. It didn’t bother her, <i>why would it</i>? It would heal, maybe not right away, but she was taking care of it. Oblivious, her drinking had cleaned it well. Dumping her entire face into the lake had given it a chance to remove the dirt. She stayed there, looking at the water with a tilted head and a frozen body. She had no need to move, she was too perfect in that moment. Like a written fairy-tale everything was sculpted to full beauty, and the she-wolf seemed created just for that exact scene.
(This post was last modified: May 12, 2012, 07:12 PM by Treena.)