<i>Weeping may endure for a night%01 but joy cometh in the morning.</i>

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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Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.
IP: 99.7.225.19
Posted on October 20, 2011 at 08:56:15 PM by Ishmael

They come in a flurry of discomfort and urgency, bright eyes narrowing with the coming of light as they depart from the shadows that clung to them. The first to emerge is a towering male, with an immaculate pelt the color of freshly wept snow from the tear ducts of frigid angels and orbs as blue as the foaming sea of Ishmael's homeland; as he nears, plume arching with the royal curvature of rank and importance, Ishmael loosely scrutinizes him, this ivory male parading forth in all his pure glory.
Trailing not far behind is an equally gargantuan female with the cherubic qualities of a youth, surpassing her frost-hued companion in stature but not in mass. Her fur is as average as a sunny day over the gentle slope of a meadow, but she retains the feral beauty of females of the lupine kind, intensified by the sharp golden lookers she glanced about with.
To them both Ishmael offers a respectful dip of his head, and in necessary obedience brings himself to the ash-hewn ground in a display of full submission. Despite the pride written in the underside of his powerful jaw, and the mental strength lurking steadily between the jagged wisps of hazel and blue that are his eyes, he submits. Like every wolf that looks to conformity when treading this delicate border betwixt life and death he gazes downward with apathy, respect, and strong recessiveness.
"Brother and sister to me by race, but commander and general by rank, I come to you in the greatest respect. I look to, as you cried the necessary orders of submission to which every aspiring member must follow, join your pack and once again run to the point of breathlessness with my brethren."
He utters this with a tone still powerfully crafted from his humbleness, but with the passion of an honest heart, finally risking an upward glance to seek the eyes of Omni Cader, and then his comely female companion.
"I am Ishmael, and I hope I can join your pack."
To plead in such honesty brings Ishmael an uncanny amount of sheepishness, and to even risk perennial expulsion through the darting heaven-turned look! Alas, despite the foolishness of the folly he had committed, he has no doubt that these two are not dim-witted beings, and from their outward appearance he sees no sliver of malice. All he sees is a sense of duty and perhaps an ounce of aloofness in the silver male with his dutifully lifted skull and magnificent flagging tail; and to the female, he senses the joys of youth, the vigor and vitality of one who looks forwards, not behind them, in their pursuit of life. In that brief moment of scrutinization, Ishmael decides that, whether they be abrasive and abusive or timid and shy, he wishes to join this pack with the entirety of his self. Ishmael's psyche, his soul, it bays once again for that wish a normal wolf desires, for social aspects and for the affection of the beating hearts of their clan; and, along with this revelation comes a fierce warmth that engulfs Ishmael, momentarily smoothing the weathered lines of stress and hardship that had lined his surprisingly youthful face and instead brings about a radiance that glances in otherworldly glory across his pate.
Today, he hopes.

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