aurora borealis- noun plural: An aurora that occurs in northern regions of the earth. Also called northern lights.
In the middle of a dense forest of coniferous trees lies the Aurora Borealis pack, its name coming from its location. At certain times of the year, the northern lights appear, dancing almost magically in the sky. A narrow trail leads you through the close evergreens. Giving into temptation, you begin moving your paws. By venturing into this territory, you are venturing into a land belonging to a pair of feared leaders. You have heard rumors of them...but you decide to take your chances and hope that the tales of blood and death are merely fabricated stories to scare wolves.
You have walked nearly five minutes before you realize the sound of paws stepping somewhere from behind. Deciding that you've made a mistake, you quickly turn around, but find that you cannot go any further. Standing before you is one of the mighty kings you've heard of. His blood red pelt clings over perfectly toned bands of muscle. But that isn't what causes such fear in your veins. One of his amber eyes has a horrid, bleeding scar across it, and his good eye seems to stare right through you. His face is expressionless, giving off none of his intentions. You cower away as his jaws part.
"I'm Hell Demon."
His voice was deep and cut through the air like a hot knife through butter. Right where he left off, another voice picks up from behind you. You whirl around and find yourself facing another male with steely muscles beneath his pelt, which seems to consist of every shade of brown. He had startled you, and you're amazed how you hadn't at all detected his approach.
"And I am Ghost...we're the alphas of Aurora Borealis."
His deep voice was laced thickly with a Native American accent. His own golden eyes are directing a harsh glare your way. Now you're caught in the middle...your breathing has become heavy in your panic and you're not sure which to face.
"You've foolishly trespassed into our territory. You face the one called Hell Demon's whose voice is once more addressing you. Get out, or become a corpse along our border."
It's obvious they mean business. So now it's up to you...take your chances and stay, or heed their warning and waste no time getting out with your life.
IP: 76.5.115.112
Posted on May 20, 2016 at 04:07:25 AM by l o s a
|
|
“Hurricane? . . . Where are you?” The words shivered their way into the empty blue glow of evening, echoing far too loud off quiet trees and miles of pine-needle halls. Losa flattened her ears against her skull, frightened by the volume of her own uncertain voice, as if speaking aloud had been a deadly mistake. As if she’d broken a promise simply by opening her maw. Silence, little girl. She trembled alone in her borrowed den, spine pressed firmly to the packed dirt wall behind her. Her suddenly pounding heart counted the seconds that no one replied. Hard, heavy beats. Tension strung tight in her narrow chest. At any moment the fragile bird expected to hear the slow shuffle of massive paws stirring the carpet of leaves outside, or an inquisitive growl curl itself into the bowl-shaped bed she where she lay . . . she watched for a black shadow falling across the den’s entrance and the glimmer of yellow irises. Familiar lanterns. A bright color that still threw Losa’s mangled thoughts into heaving turmoil. For a moment Losa thought she saw the darkness congeal into a solid form before her very eyes. Then she blinked—gasping—and realized her own intoxication had crafted the phantom. With a shaking sigh, the young fae scrubbed a paw over her exhausted face. The side effects of the heady herb cocktail she’d been prescribed remained thick as syrup in her system; it clung to her veins and clouded her mind regardless if she drifted into an uneasy sleep or jolted into delirious wakefulness. This hadn’t been the first shadow to assume a disturbingly realistic silhouette . . . Why did you leave me again? Losa dare not free the words from her sluggish tongue. But she could not stop the tiny, aching sob that hiccupped from her abdomen, the smallest sound of sadness that seemed to puncture a bleeding hole into the silence veiled across the forest. The healers had tried everything in their power to make things right for the battered ballerina; they’d doused her tainted fur with fresh, fragrant herbs so that she wouldn’t have to breathe the evil scent forcibly smeared against her flesh; they reset her injured shoulder, clucking to themselves at the damage, and given her painkillers if she so much as whimpered; their voices poured smooth and kind into her audits whenever they visited, weaving a space of healing and safety, and Losa suspected something else was mixed into her usual barbiturates to prevent her brain from dwelling on any lingering nightmares. Horror still stabbed through her skull, but memories of what she’d survived found it difficult to replay their ruthless loop when their drugged victim so easily drifted into another harmless hallucination. Pain and humiliation . . . recollections of a gentle voice and being protected . . . the music of songbirds . . . a breeze in the leaves . . . and so on. Blissful mindlessness. Until the next unexpected attack of terror, and then Losa would instinctively turn to Hurricane— Who wasn’t here. The knight who had wandered into Aurora soaked in blood not his own had taken to standing guard outside Losa’s sickbed. Anymore, the lithe dancer could not truly fall asleep until she felt certain his magnificent bulk would not move from her line of sight. Funny how the beast who simultaneously terrified and intrigued her was also the single creature Losa wanted to be closest to during her perpetual state of limbo. There was something powerfully soothing about the obsidian slope of his shoulders as he rested . . . a wall of carved onyx capable of keeping all the monsters away. With Hurricane nearby, Losa felt safe enough to let her nightmares ravage her a just little bit; she succumbed to the inevitable surges of fear and wept around the jagged pieces of her heart, anchored to the stoic sleeping visage of the black knight. The lifeline she could pull herself to the surface with when her darkest dreams finally subsided. At least . . . that’s what Losa believed. She never remembered the times she’d cried so hard it seemed as if no living soul could bring her back to reality. The instances in which the virile weight of Hurricane’s cologne had plunged her into seizures of panic were nowhere to be found in her recollections. Perhaps the herbs had dulled those as well. “W-where . . . did you . . . g-go . . .” Fresh tears swelled in Losa’s celestial portals. She had not noticed that her elven face was already damp with the sobs she’d exhausted herself with earlier; nor did she know with conviction whether or not Hurricane had been nearby before she slipped into unconsciousness. He had been, hadn’t he? In his usual spot just outside? Sniffling pitifully, the brunette ingénue quivered to her paws and tentatively peered outside her den’s entrance, eyes scanning the vague indent pressed into the sparse grass and loose soil. It smelled like him. Crisp as rain and incredibly male. The ground felt warm . . . but maybe that was only the residual heat from the set sun, fading back out into the air. Losa padded into Hurricane’s place and settled into it, her tiny frame laughably dwarfed in comparison to the flattened earth around it. She dropped her muzzle morosely to her paws, huddled in a tight ball. It smelled like him. She wanted this signature woven into her own fur like a cape to cover her wherever she walked. “Come back,” the damsel murmured to herself. The murky tide of her emotions ebbed into a deep pool of loneliness. “Why did you leave . . . come back . . . where are you . . . come back . . .” No magic existed in the world. And if it did, it existed only to curse, as it had cursed the shattered princess and the mad dragon that watched over her. But Losa had no other explanation for the violent tug on her heartstrings that shocked her into vivid awareness—cranium lifting and violet lanterns opened wide—and the abrupt overwhelming urge to spring to her feet and fly into the woods as if possessed. She was wide awake minutes before she heard a catastrophic cacophony of cracking branches—a wild smattering of noise that meant something enormous was headed straight for her, and yet she stayed frozen in place, tail curled around her rigid body. Losa was not surprised to see Hurricane of Mexico stumble onto the stage in all his Viking glory, a picture of darkest smoke and lightning windows. Her heart had known it was him charging closer. But the tortured expression on his rugged features twisted a dagger into the snowy blaze of her chest and Losa gurgled out a sympathetic whine of pain. He heaved out an anguished breath before collapsing to the earth, defeated; she lurched upward, long limbs unfolding like those of a fawn, and rushed to his side. “What happened?” The question dropped from her lips in a hushed, savagely controlled whisper, despite the desperation clawing at Losa’s insides. Hurricane’s hopelessly lost gaze sent a storm into her soul. He looked hollow. Haunted. Ghosts howled in the brilliant sulfur pools of his irises. When he did not immediately answer her, Losa’s hackles lifted like the plumage of a raptor, her tail sailing over her spine. Gone for now was the pearly gauze of chemical comfort from her unwavering glare; Losa stared down upon Hurricane with a startling clarity that rivaled a blade of polished glass. She fearlessly reached forward and nudged the fine raven silk of his pelt with her nares, breathing deeply of frigid mountains and wet soil and acrid fear and harsh masculinity. No sign of blood. No sign of whatever sin or horror Hurricane had suffered to return to her so obviously tormented. “You can tell me . . .” The princess tried to keep her voice gentle, calming, yet it shook with all the emotion ripping her mercilessly apart. She thought of the sticky skeins of scarlet that stained him when they’d reunited. Guilt slammed into her and left her breathless. All your fault. Stupid girl. They were supposed to watch out for one another. Had Hurricane heard any of her shameful weeping all those nights before? Had her selfishness finally driven him into the chasm of madness? How many other times had he disappeared without her noticing, without her stopping him, only to stumble back as if nothing had happened? “Please,” Losa rasped, “let me help you. It’s okay, Hurricane, I trust you. Whatever happened . . . it’s not your fault. So please . . .” Her lungs hitched. The strength in her clear gaze faltered. Hurricane did not carry the stench of blood . . . Then why the visceral remorse in his eyes? Without a word Losa bolted, back in the direction her wounded knight had traveled, her fleet strides devouring ground, leaping over obstacles with stunning grace that should not have been possible in her drug-induced daze. She had to know. She had to see. She had to save him. If there was any evidence of a crime, Losa needed to erase it, quickly, before someone else discovered it and her innocent, dangerous hessian was hunted down— She landed too hard on her paws, jostling her shoulder as she flew— With a cry the dancer tripped and tumbled to a stop, the air beaten from her rib cage. |
Replies:
- Thunder and Lightning - By Hurricane of Mexico May 27, 2016 at 03:28:18 AM
little ghost - By l o s a June 7, 2016 at 00:58:31 AM
Post a reply:
AdvisorMagistrate - ChenziiMarshall - Officer - |
HealerShaman - KhaleesiGuardian - Keepers - |
HunterChief -Commander - Comrades - |
LiasonChacellor -Dignitary - Councilors - Chenzii, Vladimir |
NurseryGovernor(ess) -Nursemaid - Nannies - |
SpyDetective -Operative - Scouts - Rift |
WarriorChampion - GwaineKnight - Pages - Khaleesi, Vladimir |