![]() He left his lake behind. Blue waters meant nothing when he paced the banks, thirst sated, bored. The itch reminded him of home - of long ago between hunts and between the lilt of dancing voices when no colour seized his life. Too easily the wanderer recalled a need for the constant tang of death at the back of his throat; he was not settled yet, not confident in the ability of safe to hold him like fear did. Even the lake lay quiet in its banks, a puddle compared to northern oceans and so tame... Not even the sun bothered to peer out from behind grey scudding clouds and Vafri sighed, and paced, and eventually left altogether. He might never have bowed his head except Naira offered freedom still, along with safety... Freedom to roam. Freedom to scratch the itch. He skated down steep mountain walls in leaps and bounds and torrents of loose gravel, and when tree boughs pressed their shadows down against the white wolf's back he scowled and lowered his nose and followed game trails across dappled earth. Vafri ignored most movement in the shadows though; his stomach no longer clenched and rattled like an irate porcupine, and his interests never lay in hunting. No, the art of murder suited stronger, dumber wolves and Vafri floated along toward nowhere with swift water laughing on his right. It was a part of his lake still, he thought idly. A part of home... except home still conjured thoughts of driving snow and stinging cold, of numbness in the tips of his oversized ears. What could he do with being comfortable? Accepted? Either strive for more or strive to sabotage himself - and Vafri never had been so ambitious. So the white wolf drifted down along the well-marked border of another pack's land and he contemplated stepping over - just once - just to see what happened, really. The trees grew thicker as he moved, the light more scarce and the air too close and full of the damp, earthy smell that meant green life. He moved more like a ghost the deeper he got - light feet, eyes darting, steps soft - but he retained the languid canter of a wolf not harried yet, not quite in trouble - yet. There must be other things to pass the time than starving in this wide world, other things to see than mountain tops and spiny thickets... With a last glance over his shoulder Vafri hopped nearer the scent of strangers without giving much thought to why. Why ruined adventures, ruined the chance to tell tales when he finished, and there was no one here for him to counsel so he had to settle for getting himself in trouble and out of it again. Had to settle for - loneliness, though he chose it without knowing. |
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