At Leisure Lake the sun is always shining and only a few stray clouds roam the open sky; paradise is the one word that really describes it. This beautiful lake is clean and refreshing, the very best place to swim and fish. Pups are known to play here while older wolves watch at the side, engaged in their own activities.
IP: 47.54.242.48
Posted on February 23, 2016 at 02:00:02 AM by Tamlin
 |
|
Living with the disease had been a slow, crawling descent through weakness and pain. Tamlin had believed that the saga of his rule would end in death. He knew, with the dreadful, serene certainty set aside for dying creatures and kings – of which he was both – that the illness that had started as a shortness of breath and slight pain would no doubt end him before the season turned . With a certain detached horror, he was spectator to the changes wrought on his athletic frame. Not long ago, it had shaken only in quiet laughter, but now he shuddered without control as wracking coughs hacked through his body, producing the tell-tale taint of crimson blood from the lungs. But even as his days grew short, he did his utmost to hide from Bright Moon the extent of his weakness. Ambrosia, Venga, Misty, Seoras, Anarrow, Flick, Demon Moon, Harmonia - they weren't strong enough to watch him die. It was his selfishness, the first and probably the last damn moment of selfishness that he had allowed himself to take. It was alright if he suffered alone, but to see the pain of his gradual demise mirrored in the faces of those that relied on him would have added onto what was already a great pain. So he had grown elusive, sleeping in a secluded place during the day, bathing the scent of thick illness and coppery blood from himself and appearing only by the dim light of the stars to advise those who trusted him, hoping against hope that the tricky shadows of the forest would conceal the way that his now ragged creme coat clung sharply to a gaunt frame, and how navy blue eyes, once so luminous, became duller and clouded as his last days approached. They had noticed something was wrong, no doubt, but in Bright Moon at the time, the alpha was an untouchable figure. To his followers, Tamlin was a star-touched deity. He relied on no one. His isolation was mostly self imposed, born when his natural aloof nature combined with the broken trust of Lady Satowra's abandonment, but it had persisted throughout his reign. In his eyes, a protector was not allowed to be protected. No one since Rio and Raylen had been allowed to act as shield mates. Once they had left him, he was left In a world where he would always be forced to be strong. In this world, his sudden weakness seemed like the highest betrayal. So he had hidden it until the very end. When the time came, he went to meet his death somewhere quiet. The pallid stallion laboriously lugged his woebegone form to the edge of the territory, cast a last, regretful parting glance into its depths, then stepped out into the free lands. He walked were he had once run, limbs dragging over ground that they had once flitted over, until he could walk no more. Then, miles from anything familiar, he had succumbed to exhaustion. Gracelessly, he laid down and rested a muzzle flecked with red foam on the cool earth. He wheezed, lungs failing, but relaxed, resigning himself to die a dog's death in the nameless wood. . . . But somehow, however implausibly, his story continued. As he drifted hazily in the border of consciousness, a wolf, who had been following the thick, pungent scent of his illness, caught up with him. He was saved from the very brink of death, and, through a risky and experimental treatment, returned to full health. From there, after the year of his slow and steady recover, the story deteriorated, but suffice it to say that he had not died when every expectation was routed upon that path, but had rather been waylaid for more nefarious purposes. But regardless of his misfortunes, he had returned. In the riveting speech that had stolen Tamlin's loyalty, then again in the times that had stolen Tamlin's heart, Satowra had compared Bright Moon to a phoenix, rising strong from the ashes. Perhaps it was no surprise that the man who had come to embody the spirit of that place had the same ability to rejuvenate against the odds against him. The dethroned king did not know what he had expected to find upon his late entry back into the land of Blossom Forest. It had been optimistic of him to expect that nothing had changed, to expect his pack to remain happy and healthy and safe. The stag, so often given toward a steely grade of realism brought on by too many disappointments, had thought perhaps that just once, the universe would have been kind to him. So, when he hit the border of Bright Moon pack and smelled nothing but the thick odour of bears, and beyond that the faint scent of wolves, all unfamiliar save for one that was just barely nostalgic, his renewed isolation hit him like a physical blow. The faint, silvery scars threaded through his skin from battles for this wretched piece of real estate and its treasured inhabitants seemed to sear with new pain. With oceanic eyes wide and almost unseeing from the anguish, he checks his pelt quickly, almost expecting to see thick blood gushing from his chest. His heart beats a stable rhythm, but it seems loud in his ears, as if the world has been reduced to only himself in the still wood. This aftermath of his death, his return, for a moment feels almost worse than the dying itself. The motion seems to come unbidden as he lifts his ivory head into the air, pointing his delicate muzzle to the sky and parting his maw. His serrated fangs seem to flash in the pale spring light as a ravaged howl is torn from his throat. It's not his usual, lilting cry, but nonetheless it is unmistakably Tamlin. He sings until the air in his lungs has run out and his cry fades into a quiet, sobbing exhalation. To an outsider, it seems as though all emotion has been expended with the final gasp. His face shutters, expression smoothing out and blue mirrors reflecting nothing but cool purpose. His head lowers slowly, and, equally slowly, he inhales, anchoring himself to the moment. It will not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live. He has a duty to uphold, and he is nothing if dutiful. He must ascertain that none of those who he has failed need him. then, and only then, will he allow himself to contemplate the yawning chasm of the future and the lonely hell that is freedom. A last probing sniff of the air, inhaled through parted jowls, confirms to the once-king that there is nothing for him in Bright Moon. He departs with haste, before the bears become drive off the noisy intruder on their borders. Without regret, he turns tail and breaks into an effortless canter. In stark contrast to the last time he left these lands, he moves with easy majesty. Each of his motions is constant, and his paws move with a steady, undeniably graceful rhythm. Each step that his slender stilts made followed the other with fluidity reminiscent of a flowing stream. His head is held high, his tail proudly, but not jauntily positioned relative to his ghost-hued back. His ears are pricked forward, and the extent of his determination shifts his lost bearing into a veneer of confidence. Before long, the spaced trees give way to thicker vegetation, and he must duck and weave to navigate heavy, river side foliage. Despite his years of absence from greater Blossom, he navigates easily, orienting himself toward the lake without needing to focus greatly. He skirts along the edges of pack lands without entering, keeping alert for any scents that could bring an early end to his mission. Failing to detect any, he continues to the lakeshore. On a warm spring day, he assumes that any number of wolves could be converging on the spot, some of them with the information he sorely needed. After a slight hesitation to take in the truly scenic sight, Tamlin emerged from the woods, leaping easily down a small embankment of loose soil and onto the grassy shores of the picturesque blue lake. Hunger curls at his stomach, reminding him of his other task, but he is determined to at least gain some facts before giving his previous lifestyle up as lost. Figuring that the most astute and non-aggressive gossip seekers will no doubt approach directly, he pads to the shore, glancing in to the cool water and pushing down the lost, overwhelmed feelings almost desperately, Business first, others first, then emotion. That was the code he lived by, after all. That didn't stop him from cutting a desolate silhouette on the water's edge, nor did it suppress the ache in his chest. |
| HTML © GD, Echo Garnett, Kirsebaer
Photomanipulation © GD, Echo Garnett, Kirsebaer Literature © Tamlin, Minnie Quote © Tolkein © Blossom Forest, 2010 |
Replies:
- Loyal Til Death - By Kalgalath February 23, 2016 at 03:57:24 AM
you only see what you want to see - By Tamlin February 23, 2016 at 04:54:20 PM
Loyal Til Death - By Kalgalath February 24, 2016 at 03:56:41 PM
Post a reply:
<--
-->