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Posted on March 23, 2015 at 03:35:30 AM by Sabre
 Night time has always been my favourite time. From late night strolls to hunts beneath nothing but the bright full moon. In the North, when the moon was full it was brilliant across the wide open expanses of the tundra. Everything lit up as if it were day light itself, and to me it was a lighting I most preferred. But this late Autumn night does not bring the moon along with it, for it is in fact a new moon. The night sky is dark but the stars are allowed their brilliance in the absence of their superior. It is a fantastic sight and yet I do not have eyes for it. Even if I did, I would see the storm clouds rolling in quick with much ease. As it were, mismatched irises of cobalt blue on the left and dark emerald on the right are lowered, along with the grizzled black that is my muzzle. My senses are not all that they used to be, but I am still sharp, and I am still on guard. I have been on my own for more time than I have been in company, and always have I been the one to look out for my own skin. This Moladion, though soft in many ways, was hardly any different. Most wolves within are naive fools but occasionally I have glimpsed the darker monsters that creep in the night.
I have killed a few of them myself, when they have gotten too close, but time has passed since then. From my long and strenuous life, already my joints often ache; amplified when the rain comes. And, with just my stroke of luck, the first few cold raindrops find my head. The cold of it is hardly relevant, but with the moisture comes a discomfort as I move my body. Thus I am forced to seek shelter under a small copse of trees in these woodlands, which is a more than easy feat. The cold Autumn rain refreshes all the surrounding scents, and it is reminiscent of the Spring time though with a little added decay for spice. The thrum of its rhythm against the soil is something I would almost consider soothing, if I were to consider anything at all soothing. Though I listen well and pay it attention, I am still listening to what goes on past the rain and further yet, what happens within it. There are many things to pay heed to, because we are never truly safe. The wolves outside each pack are often nothing but fodder and game for others of their own kind, and even if they are not the cannibal sort; good souls were often hard to come by. I am by no means a good soul myself, but I also don't consider myself bad, or evil. I am simply me, Sabre, used to be tundra gangster and now just an old wolf with too much time on his paws. Staring out at the rain and watching life pass by, hardly caring for the gentle mist that may or may not wet my coat. My pitch black fur dusted with cinnamon along my chest and skull, sprinkled with white on my chin and throat is thick and water resistant. I was born for much harsher climates than this, and even the hardest Winters here do not phase me. I look forward to when the rain falling before my eyes may turn to snow. I look forward to when I may recall a particular Winter I shared with a particular Starr so many years ago; perhaps the only memory of love I really have ever had. |