Blackberry Fields flip back to reality

Splat. The birds watched the scene unfold. They watched with curiosity – albeit masked. Beady eyes did not speak of judgment, but only that the creature below them was mildly interesting. It was cold and wet in this place, and the beast was the only entertainment for miles. Squish. Politics of wolves was not concerning to the birds. They were dangerous, smelly things. Warring and violent. They were not worth the trouble from birds, and were just barely worth the carrion they offered. Barely. But this one wolf had nothing for the birds. But they still watched with entertainment veiled by disgust. Squish. Splat.

The boy let out another howl of laughter as another splatter of mud licked at his once-fiery limbs. Wet earth clung in cakes at his long fur. It streaked deep brown up and down his limbs, decorated him like camouflage. Antioch Galvanisé was a boy like any other. He wanted nothing from this world except the extraneous simplicities. It was something the birds that sat around him, hidden in the brambles, could never comprehend. The feeling of mud was quite extraordinary to the boy. The feeling of the mud that squished between his toes. The cool water that chilled his blazing skin. Frost swirled into the air around his parted jowls. Pearly white canines were a stark contrast to the earthy brown that coated his face and body.

Bright eyes watched the brambles that surrounded him. Fallen over themselves like lilted dancers, weighted down by ice and water. It was the solitude that gave him happiness. He had skirted the packs and other wolves in these strange lands. He had had no desire to join another pack. Bitter feelings still swirled a foul elixir deep in his belly, distilled there by memories and the actions of others. Antioch could stay in the silence of these fields of blackberries until he died. Freedom was a wondrous, splendid thing. Packs meant fighting and politics. They meant aging and adulthood and awful things.

The boy slammed himself once more into the sopping puddle of wet earth. His shoulder blade dug up ever more mud. It poured down across the top of his back, lines of water strung little brown rivulets down his sides. He marked himself as a loner in this way. Alone in the brambles, he declared himself his own. No other could stake a claim to his sovereignty, nor mark him as property. He would fight for no causes, fight for no packs. It was he, and he alone.

IMAGE + CODING BY KSI

(This post was last modified: May 02, 2013, 04:17 AM by Datura.)

A r l e t t e I didn't know what I wanted to be when I grew up, I just wanted to make it there. Alone again. Arlette could not decide if she liked it now that she was faced with it, day into night and night back into day. The young lady had grown accustom to having not close contact, but the comfort of someone near. Someone who would wake you up if they didn't think you were breathing, and in return the fall and rise of their chest a rhythm, a lullaby for sleep. Things she had never thought about missing, not when she had left the Shattered Beach. All she had wanted to do was to get as far away from that place as her paws would take her. With long ragged breaths pulling from her dry throat she had finally accomplished her goal. Or sorta.... The mountain where she had really been born greeted her, but she had a long way to go to see what was left of Grizzly Hollow. It was mid-day and she was hot beneath her white cloak. Definitely time for a rest for the many more miles she would have to take to see a familiar face. The young lady felt the girl in her ready to whine thinking about them. How she had left, how she had scorned Kiche, Borden, and internally Jayse. Arlette did not let a sound but her panting breaths leave her. She was much too old to cry. Lettie was good at distracting herself, and began searching for water. Boy, did she have to work for it. Picking her way through trees, and brush until she at last picked up the lonely spring. There was many scents of food around, but for now the cool liquid did the trick. Then she was on her way again, knowing just where she wanted to go. Mostly. The young wolf would find something she did not expect in the grounds where her family had often hunted. There was an audience of birds viewing what she thought was a very muddy wolf. The young man didn't seem to be bothered, he seemed to be laughing about his predicament. Briefly her white brows furrowed, and she felt her heart tense, the end of her tail stiffen. While he did not seem mad, he seemed content and that was a rare sight to her pale, yellow gaze. Standing there, watching would be rude. The idea of talking to him had her frozen to the ground. Arlette had not changed in that aspect, in fact she was sure she was worse. How often she felt her words were wasted and she had grown silent. His laugh teased her ears, and an uncertain smile branded on her cheek. Shyly her tail wagged at her hocks, but that was all she managed.

(This post was last modified: May 02, 2013, 04:15 AM by Arlette.)

Antioch is the best way to get rid of finals stress.

you come beating like moth's wings whipping me into a storm shaking me down to the core... The fires along the sides of his body had gone out. Earth had masked it in layers upon layers of caking mud. It was not simply a way of playing for the boy, but a way to hide himself from the prying eyes around him. Hide himself away from those that lived in these lands. It was a coat of armor and would defend him as well as any steel plate. He hoped. The boy’s feet struck upon the ground in a peculiar tattoo, the movements of his thick limbs oddly graceful for someone so large. It would take any onlooker a few moments to realize that the movements were those of a dancer. Each motion was aggressive, but poised. Mud slashed through the air as if an extension of his limbs. A bark belted from the deep chasms of his chest. He slashed and dodged the attacks of enemies only he could see. They shone in his seafoam eyes, each of them black spots that preyed on his fears and stalked his nightmares. In the daylight he could fight them back. Antioch burned them away with the fire of the rising sun. It was his sword, his fury. The boy belted out his aggression, it howled out of his enormous lungs in a baritone voice that seemed out of place in such a child. But he misstepped, a tragic error in such heated battle. Another shade came from the brambles, striking him on the back. Antioch wailed dramatically and fell to the mud, as if it truly was his last few moments left on earth. His eyes looked up from the puddle of mud, taking in the face of the girl that had appeared on the awful scene. The boy reached out with a trembling paw, as if the brown earth matting his fur was his own scarlet blood. Tell my mother that-that… His breath stuck in his throat and the syllables that were promised could not escape. Antioch let out a huff and fell backwards into the mud, pronouncing the end of the scene. The boy was not entirely in love with the notion of girls. They were always so weird. This one would probably be no different. Maybe she would think he was really dead, turn around, and leave.

table by mimi

I can see why xD Hopefully this isn't to awkward. I haven't played Lettie since she was about to turn a year old so trying to go between her growin up/being a kid. Also the word of the day seemed so Antioch.

A r l e t t e I didn't know what I wanted to be when I grew up, I just wanted to make it there. Curious eyes did not falter from the painted wolf. Or what she thought was a wolf, but perhaps a whangdoodle in disguise. The boy started doing intricate moves, first seeming without purpose, but the closer she watched him she could tell they were from some kind of intention. He triggered something inside her; something she hadn't done in a long time. Play. Pretend. There was no logical explanation for his graceful, yet fast motions but his fight against invisible foes. Arlette could recall playing the game with Trisden, with Theo, and even Hocus when they pleaded. They had to be careful, following the orders of their leaders. She remembered always being in the back, and convinced it was real. How her eyes would dart about, the core of her fighting shivers when imagining these creatures Tris and Theo spoke of. It made a deep pain rise in her chest, only knowing where one of them was and would remain. She closed her eyes against that, not wanting gnawing guilt or sadness that couldn't be killed. The single close of her eyelids it subsided briefly, and she stared at the young knight in battle. Instinctively she winced at the rather deep sound that broke from him, and she took a tentative step but was quick to withdraw it. Again she was looking for those fake monsters, holding back a whine that lingered in her throat. For a moment she thought he had them bested or he was dying. It was hard to tell which not knowing him, but his voice was angry? Outward a fight went on, she was facing one on the inside. How did she help? Lettie solely believed something had hit him the way he was forced to the mud pool all of a sudden. Without thinking she rushed forward with her ears pressed to her head with concern. Eyes wide, when her white paws hit the mud. Yes? She thought, what was she suppose to tell his mother? It didn't occur to Lettie right than she didn't know who his mother was any way. She was a bit to absorbed into the young man's play. The young lady would not hear what he intended. A final breath his limp body plunged into the dark depths, and that was probably when she lost it. "No!" The sound belted from her throat, she would have startled herself in any other situation. He needed to open his eyes, get up! Mud splashed up her legs, staining her white coat as she dove into the puddle. "Wake up!" She barked, making a forceful shove against his shoulder.

(This post was last modified: May 09, 2013, 09:58 PM by Arlette.)