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Ruieze Fields
Open fields and soft grass...
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| sorcier four ❧ no heart ❧ lost soul ❧ taviora |
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This is where the walking led. The male found himself far out of the reach of the embrace of the Taviora territory line which was something that was oddly comforting to the newly-accepted member of the pack. As elated as he had been when Coszcotl had accepted him in the confinements of the alpha’s home, there was something from Sorcier that still felt like it was missing. It was something that dwelled in his conscious for a rather long time, as they were thoughts that never seemed to have left. It was as if every single event that he had come across, every single action that he had took slowly brought him closer to this realization, this epiphany. For what reason or another, Sorcier still felt estranged. Whether the male was being an attention-seeking brute, with the mind and patience as those who had not witnessed as many cycles of the moon and the sun as he had, it wasn’t entirely certain. Even being accepted under the mentorship of Sen, the medicine wolf of Taviora, was something he could hardly fathom for it simply meant one thing—he would be able to return to the one thing that made sense to him, the one thing that always brought him back to the core within, and that was the very earth beneath his paw. With every single step that the wolf had took, the lush long blades of grass would part passage at the greeting of his chest before stroking through his thick, mangled pelt. He was a sight for sore eyes as he made his way through the field in all of its glory, for it was blessed by the neighboring territory of the pack of Diveen, one he heard many stories about but never witnessed for himself. It was said to be a land of surreal surroundings, of foliage and the sorts of things that his mind would not be able to comprehend. The male hadn’t wandered off this far from Taviora before, and never in his time of being an outsider had he come across these fields. The time of Spring had left behind several insinuations of morning dew, sleeking the blades of grass wet with the condensation that will build up from the early hours of the morning and be exposed as the sun was almost at its highest point in its climb at this time of day. The reminder of the season brought Sorcier’s thoughts back to the events that took place earlier this week, and thus, he was bound to these thoughts of misplacement, the thoughts that brought him all the way out this far in the first place. The sight of Sen and his mate, Hush, with their new litter of pups was something that cast a much heavier stone to his quiescent mind than he would have liked. There was a connection between the two that Sorcier was alienated from, something that neither his heart nor his soul could relate to. The thought of a companion was one that was not thought of habitually by the male up until recently. Perhaps it was spring fever catching up to him. Surely he knew that there would be someone out there in the vast world of Moladion, but for now he knew he was solitary. He was one being; or rather half of one now that he felt that there was a chunk missing out of his flesh. Yes, all limbs were intact, healthy, and taut—he made sure of this with a quick glance over either of his shoulders just in case his mind and body were not on the same page. Now, along mere coincidences, the sight of a pale wolf came to his amber gaze. The form was molded with the shores of the lake with the wolf’s back to him, whereas Sorcier decided upon himself to, once again, offer his company. His company was something that he was beginning to lose confidence in, but it never stopped him in his efforts. As he weaved through the last remaining tufts of the fields before they broke at the shoreline, he kept his head held low below the rise of his shoulder flanks, as the approach would be deemed casual. Upon nearing the stranger wolf, he caught sight of a distinguished mark in between the wolf’s shoulder blades that paused him in his tracks. He knew not the definition of such a marking, but he could only imagine that this wolf was not from Taviora. The small, slender frame of the wolf before him screamed of something certainly far from mundane and, in that very moment, Sorcier felt himself snared. The female before him was mystique and pulled at every single fiber within him to draw ever near, for this sensation that was swelling in his frame to grow in its magnitude. Acceptance did not touch this sensation, nor did all the joys that the world could offer—this was something else entirely. As his paws broke the surface of the shoreside sand, he lowered his body down until his belly sunk into the sediment with his hind legs tucked underneath and his forelegs stretched out before him. Desperately, he wanted to look into her eyes, to see the things that others searched for in the windows of others—but his curiosity was for another purpose. Instead of making his arrival so upfront, he kept his eyes on the sight of the lake that was held before the two, watched how it engulfed the island far out in its depths, and for the first time in a long time—Sorcier felt grounded. |
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