I am out once again, exploring the new land with my golden, blue hazed eyes. This land is fresh, new, foreign and I hope to find new treasures to bring back to my new den. Iromar is my home now, a place to house my collection of dead. I am quite satisfied with the area, the fact that others there enjoy doing what I do. I don't care too much, but it is nice to some extent.
I carry myself on thin black stilts, through this new place covered in a thick blanket of grass. My nose is down on the earth, taking in the smells of dirt. Dirt. It has many properties to it. Dirt is made of dead things, I have come to determine. Things die and fall apart and become dirt. I have seen the eyes I collect turn to dirt, meat off bones turns to dirt, leaves fall apart and turn to dirt. I use the dirt to find the dead things, I follow the scents as I am great at tracking.
Today was an odd day. My nose has taken me to a strange situation. I see many wolves, many, and they all are out to kill. I see them far off, I hear them and smell them. I am interested. I sneak low in the grass, letting the green shield my sight from the others. I want to see them. I need to see them. I know why they are there, my nose tells me. They are there for rabbit, to eat and to feed. To fill themselves with bunnies but that is not why I am here. I am here to stalk. I am here to take in their forms with my eyes. I wish to find the wolves, to find a pelt a like, or maybe some eyes. Maybe someone will drop dead for me, maybe I can look at them up close.
My off white face is static, only reflecting my intense interest in the wolves. I doubt that any wolf will drop dead, but maybe they will fight with each other. If not, they will likely leave behind the skulls and pelts of the rabbits. I will come out of this with something. I know to be patient, I know to wait and eventually I will get what I want, so I halt my pace. My elegant body, tainted with the smells of rotting flesh, falls to the ground silently. I will watch and I will wait. Only my golden saddle will give me away, the sun reflecting off my shiny fur. I may be in the longer grass, but it isn't fall, and gold tends to contrast the green.
Three Years - Loved by None - Protected by None |