Susil Crags

Disaster has struck!
The Crags are a series of rocky formations with small caves and crevices throughout. Many of the lower-lying areas of the Crags have been flooded, however, with water pouring in from the Northern stretches of Moladion. Some paths have been completely submerged, and some are nothing more than a few rocky peaks sticking out of the water. The water is fairly slow moving but begins to pick speed up towards the Grotto, becoming a series of intense rapids and waterfalls as it nears the Grotto's entrance.

The area itself is still traversible. However, it can be risky. Large amounts of debris can enter the waterway, creating bridges at times but also creating dams that break and cause ocassional flash-flooding. Be careful, travelers! One wrong step and you could end up finding out where the water goes.

Note: Susil Crags will return to normal once 25 posts have been completed (or at Staff discretion). During this time, new threads will receive a 'Surprise','Disaster', and prizes.

Return to Lunar Children

Don't Want to Live as an Unsung Melody Roman

I don't know where I am, but I am leaving. No one really talks to me, or needs me, or wants me. I cannot find my siblings or mother, and I have not managed to ask my way home. Mostly the answers of other wolves to my clumsy questions are "Huh?" or "What?" due to my muttering speech. My siblings picked it up so quickly, and yet, I cannot see the words I make and I cannot hear, therefore the syllables are not as formed or precise. Perhaps they mistake it for being my age, or perhaps they have figured it out. I would be upset, but I do not even know what this "hear" they speak of is. I read their lips and feel the vibrations of their howls, but subtle tone or sarcasm is lost on me.

Stalking away from the pack I eventually encounter rocky terrain, rough and ragged, weird structures. I happily bounce from rock structure to rock structure, and up onto small platforms then into small crevices. It is getting towards high noon. As of yet, I've been lucky to encounter no one, and nothing that wants me as prey. My boldness is perhaps not unique at this age. A quarter grown, losing the downy puppy fur, with my long thick glossy winter coat poking through it. The mixture of colors browns, from cream to black has no set pattern, set off by brilliant yellow eyes, like a hawk's.

I sit down and happily start to tear apart some leaves and sticks. My teeth have been killing me, and the pressure of chewing relieves the itching and burning in my gums. Holding the items between my paws, I vigorously shred, getting very distracted and lost to my surroundings. I can feel the cold breeze through my ears, and the see the empty rocks in front of me. Maybe I will stay here for now. I'm not that young, right?


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