BEING ON the moon makes me feel KIND OF HAPPY

Although Shadowfax stood tall, although his head was erect, although his enormous, pointed ears were at attention, everything about him somehow drooped. It was as if he was being perpetually tugged downward, as if the minions of Hell hungered for him. They clawed at him constantly, constantly scratching and pulling and squeezing him toward their fiery domain. This was his eternal struggle. Just to rise from laying down took an eternity, for it required every last ounce of his effort. This was why Shadowfax remained standing. This was why he moved gingerly, as if he was in unbearable pain, yet with the heaviness of a lumbering mammoth. As Shimza would quickly come to learn, everything Shadowfax did, well, he took his time. In fact, he did more than take his time. He moved like a frozen reptile.

He hardly blinked before Shimza had rearranged herself to face him. With inky eyes he searched her for something... Anything to file her away in his mind as something other than "that she-wolf I ran into once." It was when his stolid stare met her sunburst eyes that he knew he would never forget her. It was not a profound feeling - quite the contrary actually. He was not stricken by cupid's arrow nor was he even remotely relieved of the gloom that squeezed his heart. No, he merely recognized her sunrise eyes as a unique feature, filing her away in the dusty stacks of his mind. Perhaps she used them to hypnotize her prey or entrance unsuspecting lovers, but they had little effect upon him - he whose heart was so entangled in spiderwebs and sticky tar.

When she spoke, he tilted his head curiously. It was the first movement he proffered to her, and the first movement to suggest he was not a phantom, a zombie, or some figment of her imagination. He was oddly delighted by her pessimistic musings, though his delight was meager at best and not apparent on his blank, greasy facade. Nonetheless, he felt she may be a kindred spirit, about as much as two Goth kids could be friends. Their union was in their shared depression, their same bleak outlook on life. So it was, the sullen male sat very slowly and very tenderly, as if he was artfully placing himself atop a pile of nails. This gesture, which was more than he usually offered, begged for story time. Yes, the less talking and the more listening he could do, the better.

shadowfax

/ shadowFAX / / 8 yrs / 32 in / 70 lbs / pack / imprint / lucky /