Aplos Riverside

Moladion’s powerful, winding river...
Aplos River is a broad, slow-moving river originating from somewhere beneath the mountains of Spirane and feeding Iromar’s moors in the south. The northern parts of the river are known for their strong currents, with the water becoming slow moving in the south. The riverbanks vary along its course, ranging from soft hummock grasses to small groups of pine, and sometimes nothing but pebbles and sand. Crossing can be difficult at times, but it can be swam or bridged by fallen trees or boulders alike.

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my name is blue canary
IP: 99.98.128.40
Posted on March 31, 2013 at 05:00:13 AM by salem


Salem knows bullies. Bullies were nothing new. She’d been around them all her life, right from birth. Her littermates… they were awful. Dealing with them was something that the young lady couldn’t help but know about. She knew how to deal with them, how they worked, and what… just what they were all about. She had all the tools, the brains and the smarts if she wanted to turn it against someone. She didn’t. Salem didn’t want to, usually. Usually she didn’t want to screw with someone that badly. The ghost didn’t really know what it was to torment someone unless she was on the receiving end. She’d grown up and grown out of that, too, even. It didn’t hurt. Salem didn’t hurt that badly any more. Very little could touch her.

All in the same, she supposes parts of her are alone now. There are things that she doesn’t hold onto as well as she used to because she realizes that there isn’t anyone standing behind her as she wishes they would. Salem feels as if she’s lost everything that has some semblance of meaning. She’s lost her family. She’s lost her home. Though they’re still there her time in reclusion has hurt her more than she’ll let on. Wolves are pack animals, and she needs her pack. Without her pack, Salem crumbles. She’s in the process of shattering, and that’s something that she can’t look too closely at.

The man that stands before her is something that she looks very closely at. Her pale eyes narrow on the big black dog. Her hackles spike, and if looks could kill the man would drop dead on the spot for interrupting her thoughts. The ghost is far too used to being left to her own thoughts, and it’s something that she can hardly help. Salem growls low from the pit of her belly, fixated on the creature for a long moment. Something about him falls into place, but she can’t place it. Another part of the ghost refuses to place it. “I don’t play games with strange, creepy men.” It’s with a shake of her head she speaks. All she needed was to clear it—what the hell happened now? Not like she was likely to back down. Never back down.

keep the nightlight on
hound’s
inside the birdhouse in your soul




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