<small> fly</small><sup> h i g h </sup>

Bright Moon - a land sullied by mystery and the ravaging scars of a terrible fire. Abandoned as a pack land for years, the terra has been used as a gathering place for the brazen and bloodthirsty drawn there by the lingering pall of death. Yet from the ashes there comes an unordained phoenix, the rainbow hues of hope glinting in her mismatched globes. Through the obsidian drapes obscuring the scenery, she alone was able to catch the perfumed aroma of new life on the breeze and hear the sluggish streams flowing ever swifter into the morning.

Thus, with a purpose, she set out to map the incognita, discovering daily the extent of the reawakening and unearthing within herself a desire to return the landscape to its former glory. Now she stands tall as privileged Alpha of the lands, lording over the rock-strewn prairie and bountiful forests with a firm but gentle paw.

Having finally realized her deepest longing to be a queen, Satowra is focused solely on the revival and maintenance of the Bright Moon Pack. Her question to each prospective warrior that comes to the border is simple:

"Do you have what it takes?"

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fly^{h i g h}
IP: 156.34.159.140
Posted on August 31, 2011 at 12:10:24 PM by tamlin.

His family. His pack. His lands. The words still sounded strange to the slender alpha male as they rolled off his tongue or as they sounded in his head. He had never lead a pack, or thought of leading one, so the idea of being an alpha took him by surprise. He had no idea why Satowra had chosen him of all the wolves in her pack, even over Rio, to become the beta and later to lead in her stead when she suddenly disappeared from their lives a few weeks before. It still hurt to think of her leaving, but the pastel toned masculi did his best not to dwell on the painful memory of her meeting him during border patrol, telling him he was to be the alpha of Bright Moon, then turning heel and racing away like she had something extremely important to do elsewhere. If he was in a particulalry strange mood, he would close his eyes and be able to experience again what it was like to watch as her dark-coloured form was so quickly swallowed up by the young foliage, how her tail still arched in the air, it's ebony plumage swaying in the wind of the evening.

However, he was not a wolf to hang around moping about his experiences. So he had done what he thought best- called a pack meeting, got a look at all his wolves, then dismissed it (slightly awkwardly, without saying much) so he could think. Tamlin had experienced a moment of turbulence in his 'always go forward' plan, but a few hours of anti-social wandering had summed up his outward mourning of his lady. Their would always be a peice of his heart that yearned for her company and longed to serve her, and some particle of his brain would always be draped with the black colour of woe, yet he had to be strong. He was currently engaged in the activity that he did best, or so it seemed. He patrolled the borders. It was easy, mindless miles passed at a quick jog, quick stops along the way to spray his scent where it was fading. He grimaced at the idea of Satowra's perfume being covered up, but anyway continued to mark the perimeter, knowing that it was necessary.

He had passed most of the afternoon thus occupied when the wind gusted a scent toward him. It was a wolf, on his borders. Tamlin wiped his face clean of emotion before setting off at a purposeful wolf-lope toward the smell. He twisted, shadow-silent, through his territories, glad that his exploring had made it possible for his paws to know the trail and thus hit the earth with a subtle perfection. Muscles worked under his cream pelt as he sleekly leaped and turned, gliding twixt the gnarled trees like the mere ghost he appeared to be. After less than five minutes, he moved parted the bushes and moved out into a slight clearing. He had no need of secrecy. His head was held majestically in the air, his tail curved like a victorious banner over his off-white coloured back. His navy blue orbs sought out the white hessian, who stood still, his stance neither dominant or submissive, for a moment, taking in his strongly muscled frame and the grace which he held himself with. Tamlin, not knowing the other, did not sit down, but remained on his feet in a slightly wary fashion. He hoped the varg would join his pack, which had a great need for warriors, but was not the type to force a decision down a wolf's throat, no matter how eligible the wolf might be. Eventually he spoke, his cadance, as always, a strange one. Stern yet gentle, musical and reminiscent to the smell of sunshine as it warmed the forest floor.

"Yo."

No one could say he was too wordy and criticize him for that.

ooc: ten minute post ;)

Replies:

Let's start a riot - By Scythe September 5, 2011 at 03:51:08 PM

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