<small>memento mori </small>

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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memento mori
IP: 216.118.155.23
Posted on August 2, 2012 at 01:01:59 AM by Tamlin

ooc: TAMMY WILL TAKE A RABBIT.... AND EAT IT! -sparkles-

Tamlin stood stalk still, glacial chassis not twitching in even the slightest movement. Like a marvellous statue, chizelled by a master from pure snow and ice, he appeared. The only thing that broke the perfection of his hue were the watchful, navy blue eyes that roved about. However, in the deep shadows in which he lurked, even those did not mar his appearance. His sooty nose was the only thing that really is in motion, and that not much. It takes deep, but silent breaths, sorting through the influx of scents to pinpoint the location of what he believed to be a rabbit's heady scent. After a moment of confirmation, his stance broke, and he stalked forward, paws caressing the ground lightly, as to not make unnecessary noise, noise that might alert his prey of his presence. The wind cooperated perfectly, lightly blowing his scent away from his quarry, and also bringing the rabbit's scent to him. He seemed to be more apparition than being as he moved forward, soundlessly stealing over the loamy forest floor, coming closer, ever closer, to the herbivore. His auditives swivelled, and he could hear breathing, the slow breathing of one asleep. As the brujo crept nearer, and his azure glance could clearly see the form of a fattened hare. She was laying on her side, nested in swathes of emerald grasses which made her tawny pelt seem one with the surroundings. The heat of the sun, which was rapidly dissipating as evening neared, had obviously lulled her to sleep, as she dozed peacefully, unaware of the predator's strong gaze which was fixated on her, zeroing in on her jugular now that his plan had been made. Tamlin tensed, his muscles subtly rippling under his pelt, then leaped. He was in flight for a moment, soaring over the rabbit, who began to awake, before landing lightly, strong stilts allowing him to pivot lithely to the side, diving in, his head lowered. His jowls parted, then snapped together snatching the tender throat of his prey before she could even think to struggle. He lifted his head, offering a violent shake to end all of the small thing's worldly troubles.

He surveyed his work with pleasure, his banner swaying slightly due a feeling of exhilaration. He caught himself before he became too overexcited, then smiled to himself, amused at how overdone the spectacle of his hunting had been and glad that no wolves had been around to see him behaving so childishly as he killed. Within the next day, he would call a pack hunt. However, he was hungry, and it would not do to lead such an expedition whilst feeling even remotely faint. A rumble in his stomach dictated he eat and eat he did, tainting his perfect muzzle with bloody red. The day was growing old. The fiery orb had begun to paint the eastern horizon with it's usual sunset display of colors, but the silent predator had no great need of rest, so he continued to munch away on his easily caught meal, his mind ensnared by preparations for the following day's shenanigans. He nibbled at the corpse until it was reasonably well picked before gracefully rising to his full height, his magnificent body responding easily, as he had not eaten so much food as to create an awkward bulge in his stomach where his indulgence had caused him to bloat. Pulling himself from his strategic musings, the stag glanced somewhat critically at the ribbons of scarlet stuck on the bones for a moment, then deciding that the remains were not worth burying. The scavengers would enjoy the meal substantially more than he or any other Bright Moon wolf ever (hopefully) would.

The night was young and the warlord was feeling rejuvenated by his meal, so rather than bedding down like a sane diurnal creature, the king decided that it was high time to attend to his borders once more. He sets off, staring at a trot, but he cannot help but extend his pace. Before long, Tamlin's strides are long and graceful, his paws lightly touch the ground, each contact making the background beat of his rhythmic movements. His limbs make the motions of an effortless wolf lope. He is like a shadow flitting through the charcoal forest. He soared over a fallen log without breaking stride, his crown and plume placed gaudily. An uncharacteristic smile of pure bliss changed his usually blank facial into something that would no longer be considered serious in the slightest. He was drunk on the scent of the night air. His palate smoothed, however, back into its customary mask, but he could not displace the feeling of peace and well-being that coursed through his veins. He oriented his bod in the direction of the lassie and moved toward her. She was not far away, so after a few minutes of weaving and ducking through the foliage surrounding the area, the apparition came out of the tree-cover and onto a wolf-trail that led almost directly to where the lady had chosen to wait. There was something familiar about her scent. As he ran, the alpha attempted to place it, and met with success. As he came into the sight of the maiden, he was more fully assured of his assumption by the sight of her blood-red pelt.

The wolf was Kushina, a wandering soul (or so he had thought at the time) who had stayed at Bright Moon for a few days when she was injured and had murderous animals on her trail. When she slipped away, Tamlin had not thought he would see her again. He was, however, pleased to be proven wrong on this count. He approached her at a walk, halting about five tail lengths away and letting his lilting lyrics fly.

"Forgive me if I recollect incorrectly, but you are called Kushina, are you not? What is your reason in coming here?"

Replies:

. red thread of fate . - By .kushina. August 18, 2012 at 11:22:47 PM

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