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.
IP: 174.22.147.32
Posted on April 2, 2012 at 09:07:08 PM by . kushina .
 Fores pound against the tundra, kicking up pieces of soil behind my red russet form as I sprint into a field. Every other moment, I take a chance look back, navy aqua stargazers narrowed in determination, yet their edges are laced with a sort of… unspoken fear, if you may. Gales streak through the two layers of derma, filtering through my fluffy winter one, but stopping dead at my undercoat. I hate my pelt color. It reminds me of blood, and crimson liquid is not exactly the thing I like best. I tear through the trees that were once hundreds of tail-lengths away, not even paying attention as branches scrape my visage and draw thin lines of (oh the irony), blood. I can literally taste the tension in my mug. They’re after me , the mind screams in terror, they’re after me! Kill, kill, kill, not enough of it… haven’t they had their fill!? Taking a sharp left, I turn my feminine crown again and let out a small sigh of relief. I’m still on my guard, but I allow myself to slow down a little bit. It would seem that they are no longer following me… though I highly doubt that they’ve given up. My chest cavity rises and falls quickly, in a show that I am indeed short of breath (jee no kidding). My baby pink tongue lolls out of my jowls, dripping saliva as I continue at a fast trot. I’ve never been much of a runner, but in dire times you must take dire measures. I have taken those measures. Numbness fills through my pistons, adrenaline drips over my large red organ that pounds against my ribs. I am coated in sweat and mud. How absolutely vile a world this is. But… where am I? Slowing down yet again to a regular trot, my red rock dial spins to face my right, then left, and finally right again. Although my larynx is dry and I can still hear the wind whispering in my audettes (although it’s no longer screaming past me), my cold nares pick up the faint scent of vargs. Vargs… my pistons hit the brakes. I’d just been running from a place that had considered me an outsider… a thing that didn’t belong in their midst. No one had even come after to help me… Was I willing to go into another land where my chances at belonging still may be nothing but below one percent? Not quite yet. Bright Moon hadn’t done me any good- and although the King, Tamlin, had welcomed me into his home, I’m quite sure he realized from first sight that I would be no asset to his harem a single bit. Afterall, my homeland had told me that I brought misfortune everywhere I went. Red wolves are very uncommon in the area of my origin, the gene is probably skipped every 10 generations at the very least. And when one does come along…well.. you can say that the pack sends them off. That, as a nice way to put it, is not what happened to me. Another pack attacked ours, and a mass assassination wiped nearly everyone out. I can’t quite recall if another got away, but it is my ‘fortune’ that I escaped without so much as a scratch. Even my own mother, whom I had never really gotten close to due to the superstition that clouded my derma like a stormy blotch of air on the gales kept her well aware and thinking that I was some sort of demon. She called out to me as I was leaving. Her gullet was ripped clean open and you could tell that she wasn’t going to survive. I left. With her screaming how the devil had been conceived inside of her own abdomen, and the abomination that came to the world was nothing but a disgrace upon all vargs. You can see now why my “red thread of fate” pelt isn’t exactly the greatest thing in my life. I dare not turn back to face the place of which I’ve just come from. Sweet Venga didn’t know what she was getting herself into when she offered me to sit beside her during the pack meeting- how naïve that one was. But I swear.. he could see everything. Or else his optics were that of a fortune tellers, guessing yes, but always close to the true answer. And so, when my sprain healed halfway, I set out- and here I am, still carrying with me a torn ligament in my left hind, a somewhat sprained ankle on the same hind, and a fracture in my shoulder bone. Navy pools scan the arena of which I’ve come to now. That’s just fantastic… what better a place to hide a demoness, than in a half-charred field of flowers? Crimson pillars limp into the ash-stricken remains, carrying the soot into my fur, darkening it. Believe me. It was an improvement. I can’t say that I am exhausted. But fatigue has started to pull at my abdomen, and, with dried mud (from the night I’d taken refuge in Bright Moon) on my pillars, they begin to shake a bit and, giving up, I return my tummy to the terra firma. How cliché. This way of survival… by always being on the run… it was terrifying and energy sapping at the same damn time.. I’d always wanted to get away from my terrible pack, but not like this… not when my blood was the one the murderers were still after. Apparently, wiping everyone else out wasn’t enough… they had to annihilate the whole clan in its entirety. The sun has broken through the cloud cover that has been hovering over Blossom for the past few days. It’s acidic rays fall upon the charred remains of flowers that will probably never grow back- as well as on my own silhouette. I should probably get up and move away from here. Away, far, far, FAR away. I’m a sitting duck just laying down in plain view… but something tells me to wait and listen. Gut instinct is very important to me…. So there I wait, hoping that whatever I’m waiting for, isn’t going to slice my abdomen and spill my guts out onto the charcoaled tundra below. I get into a defense position, with my pillars out and my tassel to the side, my radar testing the wind. One may not see it, but offense is also in play here. Now... shall a game of chess be upon us? ooc: o. my. god. crappppp posttt... forgive me... Princess || Adult || Loner || Loveless word count: 1055 |
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