Ruieze Fields

Open fields and soft grass...
Ruieze stretches far in the midlands of Moladion, laced with streams that feed into Diveen and out of Asteraia at times. The fields are vast, filled with wildflowers and tall, soft grass; trees are sparse, as are rocks, but one can find small shrubs to hide amongst, and the grass itself. To the south of the fields, a Ruieze River widens, and the ground becomes sandy. There is a small, grassy island that can be reached from the banks, with water-birds often congregating on the island rather than the riverbanks.

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Write Me A Poem (Lz)
IP: 75.72.15.73

There was little surprise that he was welcomed into the plains pack. After all, the Alphess had been trying to bring in random loners. Once amongst the wolves, Avtandil started to understand why. The pack was solid, but any pack could be stronger. His thoughts darkened, stepping down the path of memories of murderers stealing the lives from Iromar. A pack could always be stronger. He walked along the path of these thoughts, holding them within himself without letting them consume him. It was a history he would hold forever, it would keep him alive one day, he was as sure of that as he was that it would one day kill him.

Still lean from his time spent in the freelands, he gracefully stepped along the trails worn down by wolf and prey than the years cared to count. His body was cut from muscle and strong with survival. As young as he still was, it was apparent from his movements and poise he was still not one to be taken lightly. The seemingly bored demeanor added to the idea he was barely there, or on a mission and just passing through. He was a wolf not to be bothered in his progress, unless someone wished to risk their own well-being. Stepping into the fields he paused for a moment and considered as the sun started to rise high over the earth. Aster had raised her voice to summon the starving loners to her side. Eyes narrowed and he dismissed that thought. His aim was far more selective than the desperation to increase numbers. Instead, he lifted his voice in a politely daring challenge. Not mean, nor particularly scathing, he still had a note that was clear: the merely curious need not apply.

Bringing his head back down, the young man sat in the fields. He did not hide from sight, confident in his poise and position. Steely gaze scanned the horizons, flicking to movements that would alert him to his surroundings. He would wait for hours, studying the wolves and the world around him to see if any would catch his interest or to see if any interest would be caught by him. He was very well aware this might be a waiting game where patience would be a virtue.

And it will be a song in my heart.
HTML © RILEY



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