Many wolves looking for relaxation come to Blossom Field. A gentle breeze vibrating the blossoming flowers is quite a sight to see and it is quite a favourite for wolves to come with their mates.
A recent fire has ruined the scenery, half the field covered with soot and marked with scars of the flames. The other half is untouched, however.
Let The FleshBurn IP: 72.161.203.113 Posted on March 12, 2012 at 07:41:14 PM by Holocaust
Scrawled in gore through the gas chambers
Like honey on my tongue, fat and blubber running down my gullet, meth pleasing to my senses, and all I had to do was breathe… Breathe the scent of the wolves around me. I wasn’t in their domain; I was in my own seamless province. I observed them from afar, I identified each one, memorized the pigment of their hides, stored the color of their eyes, the strain when they walk, the patterns that their fur laid into the ground after a midday nap. I was God in myself, he creates life, and he shall taketh away. Chew on that, Fenris. Unspent verve lapped gluttonously at my slow pace, inspiring me to step it up. The tropical a.m. air lay profoundly around me, contorting my downy-ashen wool into a billowing plume stack. This was what I lived for, the (:3) RUSH. Letting out an ear-splitting war cry, my hunches swelled with force, my hind feet stirring with fatal precession as they thrust me from my vantage point. Vaulting off the grit that once held my wiry mass, my whole body rigid, I flew through the air. The consciousness was unbelievable. The wind screeched in my auricles, irate that I would taunt their boundaries, that I would defy gravity. Midair famine shot through my veins like an injected high, my head spiraling in the vapors and leaving me dizzy with childish glee. It was heaven on earth, or more pacifically, in air. My stomach inclined to my iron-hinged jaws and my heart plummeted to my toes, oh yes, this was art. It had all occurred in slow motion, the bloodcurdling understanding that I wasn’t going to land, the way I thrashed in aerial flight, the feeling of revulsion when I saw what was under me, the nauseating fissure… And the comatose, stormy eyes of my lifeless paramour that told me what I had done, that I was done. That was the die I died.
To hear their cries reverberate through the vacant corridors
Watching this flustered mistress now, determined hurt in her livid lanterns, I felt the adoration desire (I got a hankering for some lovin’. :3) reoccurrence, the hunger, the obligation. I’d been sitting here for some time now, letting the blackening soot to smudge my vague fleece a ghostly, permafrost- rime. Just watching, waiting, regretting. It was invigorating, if you were a vulture that is. I, was the esteemed predator, and she, was the extravagant quarry. Returning my fleeting attention to the flowery demoness, the way her curved bodice assumed an intimidating carriage no matter which way you put it, her fur, long and silky, whipped in the wind with saintly superiority, how her eyes sang a melody without her having to so much as wag a tail. Digging at the burnt ground, it amplified her sheer white coat; she followed the crows to the sound of chaos. Make your move, Lothario. With pleasure. Silently I rose from my earthy coffin of felled flora, paws making no more than a muffled thump on the ravaged terra firma. Muted, I brushed past her, relishing the brief contact, offering up a juvenile lop-sided grin, and nuzzled the ground where she was to sit. Clearing it with no great ease, I finally sat back , no more than a yard away. Watching my paws sheepishly, I stilled. Have mercy, my fatalism
