The Wildwood sounds of the wood

Baron had found himself a home near the fork of a river, one that lead to a waterfall off to the East and parted both to the North-West and South, having explored each path thoroughly before making his choice. He had noticed the scents of other loners and those of packs to the South and West, but he remained content in his dug out hollow for now, cautious of approaching any-wolf as of yet.

The cream fur that was predominant along his musculature was covered in dirt from his task of creating a small home for himself, something that he worked on cleaning as he lay at his dens entrance, piercing yellow eyes attentive to his surroundings as he paused from his task at the slightest of scents or sound. It was his time to be careful without the protection of a pack, he was just a yearling after all and even a strong and practiced yearling could be taken off guard by a group of pack wolves or a large, domineering loner. Baron worked at cleaning his fur for some time, content in having a task to do while he thought of his next best move. Finding nourishment would be the obvious thing to do, perhaps marking the small area he hoped to claim for himself for the time being.

These were all things he procrastinated about, as what little heat that penetrated through the canopy above warmed his salt and pepper back, leaving him content. He wondered about where his brothers might be now, the four twins and his eldest brother Roy, whom despised Baron's name for him.

What now? Baron stretched, muscles flexing under his medium length fur, which still held residue of the mud from his dig, as he stood to his full height, brown-cinnamon ears reaching towards the sounds of the wood.

(This post was last modified: May 25, 2012, 04:12 PM by Baron.)

<blockquote><ul><span style='font-size:7pt;line-height:100%'>i feel horrible about making you wait. decided to just suck it up and post even if I don't feel like it.</span></li></ul>
Restlessness spilled out of her breath, ranging far out into the forest gloom in search of her next fix. Wanderlust was her only companion as she raced through the trees, weaving back and forth at a breakneck pace that was like to kill her. Dagrún was bored. She didn't know this forest. She inhaled, it smelled boring, like musty old dreams that had belonged to some musty old wolf who was probably dead now and had never really been alive at all. Dagrún was barely alive —she was sick in body and soul. Somehow Relic Lore, unfamiliar as it was to her, didn't seem like an adventure... it just seemed like a place where wolves came to settle down and die. <i>But I won't settle down and die. Not here. Not ever.</i>

But she could not run forever.

Her lungs, so underdeveloped and feeble, gave out on her suddenly. She collapsed. Twisting and writhing in the dirt and fallen leaves, the little white girl fought for breath. It would not come. She had ran too long, ran straight past her boundaries, and now her lungs were too tired, her heart was too tired. Violently, her soul raged against the confines of her wretched body, willing it to get up and keep going. But it would not. Breath would not come. Slowly, the trees began to shift out of focus, and a kind of darkness seeped in through the corners of her vision. Some part of her must have been terrified as she slipped out of consciousness, though her soul stirred in her chest with an ardent hope: <i>have I escaped at last</i>?

</blockquote>