Light Is Changing To Shadow - Main RP

[Sighani]

[bg=ffffff][atrb=width,500,true][atrb=border,0,true] In the ancient mythos, Chthonios was a lush, sea-girt land where platinum beaches thundered aloud to the backwash of an ocean roiling with the rage of the imprisoned titans. Abounding with the exuberant powers of existence, with a love of life so intense that it expressed its delight in the creative forces of the universe at every turn of the seasons, it was hidden within the blessed shadow of Mount Ida, birthplace of Zeus, king of the gods. Vergilius Patroklos didn’t know if any gods dwelt within the mountains of Cthonia, a kingdom he’d named after that land so steeped in legend, but if they did, they were not the sort of gods he’d like to meet. Vergilius, do you know why we worship the gods? his father had asked him once–a lifetime ago, it now seemed, for he remembered it through the eyes and ears of a child, his father looming over him, voice rumbling like thunder, very much a god himself. We pray to them so that they might look favorably on us and protect us, because there are mightier forces in this universe than gods, boy. We worship them because we fear worse. At the time, he had misinterpreted his father’s meaning. The only thing his child’s mind could comprehend as being more powerful than the gods were their progenitors, the titans. He realized his folly now, as he struggled through the snows of Cthonia, his kingdom of fire and ice. His people prayed to the gods not because they believed the gods would protect them from the wrath of the titans, but because it gave them hope, gave them guidance through a world in which they would otherwise be alone. Virgil, though he still swore by the names of the pantheon, had not prayed in years. He had replaced his religion and his spirituality with companionship–first through his mentor Cassander, then through his queen Niobe, and finally through his pupil Cleitus. Like the gods that came before them, they had filled the emptiness in Virgil’s life, gave him a purpose, a reason for living. But they were gone now. Even Cleitus. The wolves had all expected the winter snows, but they had not expected this... Five days ago, a white hell had swept through Cthonia, and in an act of confused desperation, Virgil had attempted to lead his pack from the foothills of the mountains towards the sea. The wolves were separated in the madness, scattering off into the hungry void, gale-force winds and bitter cold erasing every trace of their existence. Endless white all around, they became lost within their own home, but none so lost as the king. It was the first time he’d been without Cleitus in two years. He was completely and utterly alone. And so he prayed. The blizzard had let up last night, but Cthonia was a blighted wasteland, featureless white desolation from horizon to horizon. Even the sun and mountains were shrouded in a thick fog, totally indiscernable, leaving Virgil directionless as he wandered the abyssal plains in search of life. He had stirred up a herd of musk oxen this morning, mistaking a calf for a wolf from a distance, and the oxen, mistaking his approach for aggression, had appeared like specters from the mist and, mindful of their hooves and horns and their sheer bulk, Virgil had made a hasty retreat. He had not seen a living creature since then, however. Or a dead one, for that matter. The blizzard had buried everything. Would he ever find his pack? Would he ever find Cleitus? Or was he standing upon the blanketed corpses of his own pack? The king threw back his regal crown and let loose a howl that soared out across the plains, but it was hardly more than an echo, the mournful cry of a ghost, muffled by the mist and the snow. He had worn his throat raw from howling, and the frigid air did nothing to soothe the burn, but he had yet to hear an answer. “Hestia keep the child,” he muttered when he found his breath again, trying not to think of Baby–or Bryony, as she was now known–wandering this nightmare alone. “Eros guide the youth.” Curious, how he resorted to the rites of his childhood in times of great distress, calling on gods he had long ago forsaken. Curious, how it still, after all these years, came as second nature. He had hardly taken three steps when finally he caught a familiar scent on the wind. And after five days and nights of blistering winds that cracked his nares until all he smelled was the scent of his own blood... oh, what a sweet scent it was. “Eromenos!” he called, his voice shattering painfully on the last syllable as he bounded through the chest-deep snow, sun-fired eyes searching desperately for a sleek black form against all this white. And then, at last, he spotted a nose poking up through the snow. He rushed to the spot, digging furiously, until at last he uncovered the limp and lifeless form of his pupil and dragged the youth from the snow by the scruff of his neck. Cleitus was still alive, but just only. Virgil draped his body across the younger hessian’s, sharing his warmth, attempting to coax consciousness back into a figure that too closely resembled a corpse for his heart to handle. It wasn’t long until he felt Cleitus shift beneath him, shivering violently as he slipped back into consciousness, eyes cracking open just enough to reveal a glimpse of glacial blue that mocked Virgil with its ice-cold chill. “Oh Eromenos, thank the gods you’re alive,” the king choked out, voice harsh and strangled with abuse and withheld emotions. Cleitus stared at him in silence for a moment longer, expression unreadable, before his trembling form shifting once again and his eyes drifted slowly shut, his face suddenly an image of divine serenity. Virgil could have wept. “I knew you’d save me, Virgil.” And at those words, he did. Some time passed–an hour, maybe two–before Virgil found his feet again, his heart wrenching painfully behind his ribs as he watched Cleitus struggled to find his own, offering the younger brujo a shoulder for support. “I’m deeply sorry, Cleitus, but we really must find shelter before nightfall,” Virgil said as Cleitus slumped against him. Cleitus muttered something uncouth in response which Virgil chose to ignore. “Have you seen any of the others? Is Briony alive?” He was not worried about Fly and Courajess–they were strong wolves, warriors, and he had no doubt that they had pulled through the storm with little effort. But Briony... the girl was hardly more than a pup, and the snow was well over her head. Her survival would be nothing short of miraculous. “I don’t know,” Cleitus responded, his face crumpling before he collapsed into tears. “I don’t remember anything.” Virgil heaved a heavy sigh, but he could hardly blame Cleitus for his emotional trauma; he’d just had a very close brush with death, his mind was still in a state of shock. “Hush, Cleitus, I’m here now, you’ll be fine,” Virgil promised as he touched his muzzle to the youth’s cheek, clearing away a hot tear before it froze to his face. He wished he could give the youth a moment, for pity’s sake, but they had already wasted enough time as it was. It would be dark soon and the temperature would plummet. Cleitus, in his weakened state, would be especially vulnerable to the elements. Though it tore at Virgil’s heartstrings to rush Cleitus through his grief, he had no choice–he needed to get under cover as soon as possible, and then in the morning he’d go out in search for the remains of his pack. Living or dead, he would not rest until he found them. “Hopefully they’ll come to me before then,” he said to himself as he and Cleitus chose a direction and started walking. But in the darkest corner of his mind, he knew he would never see his pack complete and whole ever again. ________________________________________________________________

count xx 1383 words.
tunes xx "Old Man" - Neil Young.
comments xx This came out much more angsty than I intended, but whatever! New thread! Huzzah![/size]

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[Emmy]

[bg=white][atrb=width,WIDTH,true][atrb=border,0,true] Avendesora Mahdi Al Ellisande There are those that remain behind ...

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Avendesora liked to consider herself a natural when it came to suffering through harsh winters; Novus Vita had been known as the cruelest of the territories in Fantasy once the seasons changed. If she were being honest with herself, it was only by necessity that the desert-dweller learned to cope with the ice and the snow. As soon as she'd left the Wastelands, she'd been forced to adapt in ways she'd never intended, for the Outland winters were sharp and they were violent, subject to fierce storms and bitter cold. If she hadn't learned, she would have died from the cold of winter a long time ago.

The storm that had blasted the seaside territory five days ago had been surprising, though no great shock to Avendesora's system. As soon as lord Vergilius made the decision to move the pack away from the mountains and towards the beach, she had followed, but at a distance. Since joining, the former queen had chosen to hover on the sidelines, preferring the role as a silent guard, watching and waiting, a white ghost. Faceless, nameless, nothing more than a memory. She understood that her continued reticence did little to inspire trust in her from the others, she didn't even consider changing her ways. She didn't want to be close to them, she didn't want to care. Not anymore.

Avendesora doesn't remember the exact moment when everyone got separated; one-second they'd all been trailing each other nose-to-tail, and then the next they'd drifted apart, one-by-one, until she, too, was lost. Dark, gray clouds had dumped snow in heavy drifts, inch piling upon inch, and the wind blew in such strong gusts that it erased all evidence of life, so that soon there was no trail and no path that proved wolves had traveled there. And Avendesora didn't yet know the territory well enough yet to be comfortable traveling blind. So, once she'd discovered a boulder large enough to take the brunt of the wind off of her after she'd curled up at its base, she'd figured that waiting out the storm would be wiser than circling around her own tail because she couldn't see two inches in front of her nose.

It had been easy to lose track of time, when night and day were nearly indiscernible for the dark clouds and the blizzard, and everything was howling and white. After a while, the cold had gotten to the point where she was almost numb enough to bear it. Throughout the storm, her breath had frozen on her tail where she had tucked it over her nose, and whenever she moved to break the ice, the cold air that hit her throat burned, and she couldn't breathe through her nose too well anymore because the insides felt like they were frozen solid.

Come the fourth day, the storm began to show signs of slowing down, though it still raged and the wind was blowing snow in all directions. She hadn't moved in those four days, because the snow had built up around and on top of her, but Avendesora knew that if she didn't get up that the snow would likely freeze over, and she couldn't risk being iced in; she was going to starve, if she didn't freeze to death first.

It took her several tries to stand, because she wasn't as young as she used to be and her joints were stiff. Eventually she got her feet under her and immediately wished she hadn't; at least under all the snow she was slightly sheltered from the cold, but above the icy air burned her aching lungs and her already-frozen nose felt like it was going to snap off. The snow looked so soft and fluffy, but was in reality nothing less than stinging needles against the small patches of exposed flesh on her face, ears, and between her toes. She didn't waste time moving, however directionless she might be.

It was cold.

Bone-numbing, brain-freezing, eye-stinging cold.

The snow was thick, chest-deep, and though half of the time she is able to stay above the snow, the other half was spent trying to regain her footing. Her legs ached from trudging through what felt like an ocean of snow which covers treacherous, uneven, sloping ground, and her progress was slow. Avendesora's eyes watered and her eyelashes kept freezing together, making it hard to see. Her ears hurt inside, and there was an ache in her jaw, maybe from the cold, maybe from the silence. It was hard to tell. The cold was almost unbearable, but moving at least kept her warm.

Time passed.

Come nightfall the storm had finally abated, but then she could literally feel the temperature plummet. Avendesora was quick to find another boulder, this one at least half the size of the one she'd bedded against the last night, and dug tiredly through the snow until she reached frozen ground. She has to force herself to ignore the cold when she lays down, but she cannot stop her body from shivering and her teeth clatter so hard against each other that she's afraid they'll shatter. Sleep does not come easy, but she is thankful for the reprieve when it does.

The next day is pretty much a repeat of the first. Lots of snow, lots of cold, only this time with trees.

When she'd awakened, she blinked against the tears in her eyes, trying to figure out where she was. It appeared to be somewhere around either dusk or dawn, judging by the dimness of the light, but it could also be high noon for all Avendesora could tell, especially when she discovered the dense fog that had settled while she slept. Snow and ice blanketed what little she could see of the world. Ice. More ice. Snow. More snow. More ice. And ... wait for it... more snow. The only other thing she could see were dead trees. They were tall, black, and gnarly, with bony looking twigs and no leaves at all.

When she begins her journey again, she spends a lot of time glancing up at the branches that remain as she passes beneath the trees, hoping that the weight of the snow isn't enough to bring them down on her head. And then she realizes that while the cold was bad, the monotony was worse. Nothing but trees and snow and sky as far as she could see. The only sounds were the tortured cracks of branches breaking off far away, the crunch of her paws through the snow, and her own labored breathing. For a while she tried counting the trees as she passed, but that got boring real quick.

And other than trees, there's nothing to count.

Just snow, snow and more snow.

Her lips hurt, and she realizes that they're cracked and bleeding. She tries to stay hydrated, melting snow in her mouth as she walks, but when the liquid hits her stomach, it only serves to remind her that she hasn't eaten in days; even before the storm hit, her last meal had been small and three days before that; and the emptiness inside of her is burning.

She grits her teeth, licks her bleeding lips, and keeps walking.

After a while, Avendesora allows her mind to wander, because nothing is changing; everything around her was cold, white, and empty; and she'd do anything to keep her mind off of everything that surrounded her.

Once, I was called Queen, she thought, and then smiled, but it was brittle and bloody, and it felt like she was going to break if she holds it for too long, so she doesn't. It almost sounded like the beginning of one of those fairy-tale stories that Reigousni used to make up for her on late nights that they spent guarding the boarders (before the war, before he betrayed them all, before she wanted to split open his belly and swallow all of his insides), back when sleeplessness was rewarded by whispered dreams (quietly, so Djevik wouldn't snap at them and tell them to shut-up); stories that always started with: Once Upon A Time, and ended in: Happily Ever After.

Over the years, Avendesora's collected her own Once Upon A Time's:

Once, I was a Princess. Once, I was a Warrior. Once, I was the closest thing one could get to being a God on the battlefield. Once, I was mother's favorite. Once, I nearly died. Once I discovered a long-lost half-sibling. Once, I ruled over Fantasy. Once, I trusted someone else other than myself. Once, I trusted more than one person. Once, I fell in love. Once, my dreams failed me when my sister was murdered by her son. Once, I gave birth to the two most precious things in the world. Once, I was abandoned by my lover, and then I was abandoned again. Once, I lost everything. Once, I think I really died. Once, I think I forgot to come back to life.

And she is still waiting for her Happily Ever After, damn it, because hasn't she done enough to deserve a happy ending by now? But maybe she did it wrong. In all of Reigousni's stories the princess was a distressed damsel, waiting to be rescued; she'd only ever wanted to be the hero.

Avendesora coughed and the sound was harsh in her ears, and she thinks she tastes blood but she's too cold to care. The silence pressed down on her, thick, like a blanket, and it was pressing on her eardrums so hard that they kept popping. She'd been walking for hours by this point and she knows that it was going to get dark again soon, and still no signs of life. She's beginning to suspect that she'd chosen the wrong direction when she'd set off the day before. So it comes as a huge surprise to Avendesora when she stumbles across Vergilius and his ward Cleitus.

"Oh," she says, but they're too far away for her voice to carry.

Avendesora can't remember a time she's been more relieved to see another living thing, but she finds herself hesitating still, and she pauses to watch them, moving side-by-side, walking in a diagonal direction away from where she stood and where she'd been headed. They must know where to hide, she decides, and then moves to follow.

"Wait," she calls weakly, and then yells louder: "Wait!"

Her run is sloppy, she can't stop shivering and her body keeps crashing through the snow, but, slowly, she manages to close the distance.

"Please, wait for me[/b]."

It is so sad, the past. Too sad ...
... so I will not speak of it.

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Word Count;; 1802. 1763. The spell check I used gave me the wrong number for my post. Lol.
Comments;; I am so drugged up and so out of practice. Seriously. I'm sorry.
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[Asphyxia]

[bg=ffffff][atrb=width,523,true][atrb=border,0,true] The winter tore her rage through Cthonia, and although she did little damage to the land itself, it left the wolves facing a force so deadly, so threatening, it was a wonder that it didn’t do more damage. The herds were large and had adapted to the extreme climates of Cthonia over the centuries. Courajess, a wolf of the ice and mountains, had been raised in climates in the extreme colds. Going to war in many different territories, he had learned how to adapt quickly to the raging changes in weather and climates from territory to territory. This weather was nothing new to him. Although, when the pack had been separated incidentally by the thick storm, unable to see one another, or smell one another for the stinging winds and icy snow that blasted into their faces. Courajess, instead of attempting hopelessly to find the others, had decided to search out a safe place to bunker down, instead, finding Baby, tucked into the snow and shivering. Her coat – a dogs coat, although it was double, was not nearly as thick as a wolfs. Although she was large for what would be considered a small dog – a large dog on short legs, her paws, although large, were not acclimated to the climates of winters harshness yet. It was easy for the pup to freeze and when Courajess had found her huddled up into a ball, trying to keep warm and scared all alone, he had curled his body around hers, wrapping her in his cloak of warm fur, nuzzling his head over her face and tucking her deep into his body to keep her from freezing. He found it cold too, of course, but most certainly not as cold as the pup and it was easy to tell. Her shivering eventually subsided and sleep quickly followed the small dog. She was much older – eight months now? He tried to remember how old she had been when he’d first found her. Her speech had improved greatly and she no longer made so many mistakes in her pronunciation. She was more clear in her definition of each words syllable too and although he had adored how cute it had been, she was still as adorable to him, as she was before. Still a child at heart, even through her training with him and her work with Virgil to become more mature and to improve her knowledge and vocabulary. She had grown a lot, but her rambunctious, ever-curious behaviour and unique personality was still her own. Bryony, as Virgil had renamed her. A more mature name given her growing maturity as the months progressed. To him, she would always be Baby and thus he would always call her, regardless of how old she ever got. He had found her as a baby and she had been an adorable baby and to him, she would always be such. He viewed her as his own child and vowed to always look after her as such. It pleased him to know she had finally found somewhere to truly call home, especially a place with so many wolves that truly cared about her and were willing to look after her and not put her to fault for her stature. Courajess shifted his weight slightly, glancing at Baby. The winds and snow fall had subsided from the raging tempest of whipping ice. Baby had curled up against a bush and was asleep. He had been keeping her warm, but as the day moved on, he decided so should they. Acoustics lifted, shifting forward as he heard Virgil’s call. If they were to seek proper shelter, it would be best if they tried to make it to Virgil. Pads gently carried the white, black streaked wolf to the Corgi, his large nose gently nudging her cheek and nuzzling the soft guard furs of her neck to awaken her. She shifted around and groaned in protest, even squeezed her eyes tighter, plume pressing more closely to her body, but he persisted. Finally, she peeled her right eye open, gazing up at him as if he were the cruellest wolf on earth to dare wake her from her snooze. “’Jess…? Why’d ya wake me?” She shuffled around a bit before pulling herself to her paws, stretching out her front legs so her body arched, before standing upright again. “The storms have passed and Virgil is calling for us. We should go find him. He may know where there is shelter.” Courajess let his gaze glide over to the pup, meeting her brown chocolaty irises. Her crown tilted slightly to the left, her left ear flopping over. Courajess’s lips tipped at the corners. “C’mon, little girl.” Nodding, Baby followed as he turned on his heels and began treading in the direction of Virgil. She followed in his foot prints, to make sure she didn’t fall into any deep snow boughs, as she had several times before. Courajess kept checking on her in the silence, making sure she was doing okay and wasn’t getting cold, as he knew the pup liked to pretend she was as tough as the rest of the adults and would hide the fact her paws were cold for as long as she could. He found it both amusing and cute to see her bounding from one paw print to the next. Baby’s stomach growled, interrupting the silence and she paused in her tracks, glancing abruptly upward at Courajess. He halted and glanced over his shoulder. The corners of his lips were pulled into a frown, brows furrowing, concern for her flashing in his gaze. They hadn’t eaten since before the storm hit and she was probably starving. “I’m hungry…

[/b]” A soft whine slipped from her lips as she gazed up at him, puppy eyes going wide.
Nodding, he said, “I know, Baby and we’ll find you some food as soon as possible, alright?”

She nodded back, and began concentrating on his tracks again to keep up with him and he slowly began moving forward once more in the direction of Virgil’s voice. It had only been a little while they had been traveling, but Courajess decided to strike up conversation to keep hunger off Baby’s mind.

“Remember Cheryl?” A small smile, a sad smile of memory, crosses the wolfs mind. He had been searching for her, until he’d found Cthonia and finally deemed her as dead. His sister, his beloved sister and best friend, had disappeared and was just… Gone. It was like she had never existed and perhaps it was cruel of him to do this to Baby, but he needed to be reminded that she had been real… In some way, by someone who still had memory of her.

“Of course I do! She was a nice lady.[/b]” Baby’s eager, and ever-up-beat voice broke the sorrow, although only temporarily. It did, however, sand the hard edges of his doubt in her memory.

“She was so beautiful, so smart… I wish she could see this place right now. She loved the snow, in all its glory, everything covered in white, untouched by the two-leggeds.” He lifted his yellowed gaze from the white snows, and there they were… Three wolves, moving through the snow horizontally to them. Immediately, he shut his jaws and lifted his head tall, glancing back quickly at Baby. “There they are!” Startled, she looked up. Immediately, the young pup began running toward them, past Courajess, calling out Virgil’s name.

“Virgil! VIRGIL! Cleitus![/b]” She had dodged around and past Courajess, bounding through the snow, forgetting she had been following in his paw prints for a reason.

And it was that very reason that had her above ground one moment, bounding, left ear flopping up and down, tail whiplashing back and forth and the next, she had disappeared. Poof. Gone. Courajess, shocked, ran over to where he had last saw her, only to find her stuffed into a groove in the ground, two feet down in the snow. Snow had fallen atop her back and head, icing her in white sugar. She gazed up at him, embarrassed, but he only smiled and lowered his large mug down into the hole, taking her thick scruff gently between his jaws and hauling her out.

As her excitement had worn off, and embarrassment had set in, her cheeks blushed red through her burgundy cloak. Deciding to peak her happiness once more, he took off running towards Virgil, Cleitus and Avendesora, leaving tracks for her to run in. “Bet I can beat you there!”

A large lopsided grin replaced Baby’s sheepish frown and she immediately bolted after him, laughing loudly, her jaws spread wide in a smile to reveal her white canines.

As the two reached Virgil, Courajess halted and smiled at the trio. Ave looked exhausted and sore, Cleitus looked sick and Virgil simply looked concerned for his pack. Frowning, he nodded to all three. “Virgil, Cleitus, Ave.” He didn’t mention Avendesora’s obvious stiffness and pain, for she seemed the type, throughout the last several months, to maintain independence and self-sufficiency. Certainly not the type to divulge in a wolf she barely knew, so he let it lie. If she needed help – really needed it, he only hoped she would be smart enough to say so. “The storms have passed, for the most part. Any sign of anyone else?” Fly immediately crossed his mind. Freiya… Why she had changed her name, he didn’t understand. He hadn’t said spoken her old name in front of the others yet and he half wondered whether or not it would strike up curiosity or distrust in the pack if he divulged something they did not know about her. Then again, they probably didn’t know anything really about her past.

His concern for her was obvious, although he wouldn’t speak it. Virgil knew Courajess had it for Fly and he had told Virgil he had been in love with her for years, although he had not told him the beginnings of that circumstance. Baby quickly snapped him out of it, immediately rubbing a hug into Virgil’s leg, her face nuzzling into his chest. “I MISSED YOU, VIRGIL![/b]” Her squeal of delight was high pitched and made Courajess flinch out of his thoughts. He nodded to Cleitus. “You alright, buddy?” He wanted to be on good terms with the male and while he knew the male was very wary of others and especially those that sought Virgil’s attention, he wanted a friend in the wolf.

Baby immediately shifted from Virgil to Cleitus and hugged him as well. “You look sick, oh no what happened?![/b]” Her worry for her friend flashed through her bright eyes and her gaze lifted to Avendesora too. “Are you okay too? The storm looks like it was bad for you too![/b]”
Courajess gazed at Virgil, serious once again. “If nobody else responds to your call, I offer to go out on a search for them. The others will need you looking out for them.”[/color][/center]



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[Asphyxia]

[bg=000000][atrb=width,530,true][atrb=border,0,true] “Freiya! Freiya!” The pups brother’s voice broke into her reverie as she gazed down the cliff’s ledge to a pond that a waterfall filtered down into from the eroded wall a stream cascaded over. Glancing over her shoulder, Freiya sighed, looking at her brother as he bounced around on his paws, excited to be showing her his discovery in his adventures without her. Balder’s frame was lankier than hers, short, but scrawny and scruffy. Freiya was tall and while she was lithe, she bided more muscle from the training she was going through. Her brother was not in training to be a warrior as she was. He was to be a simple Scout or something thereof. His fur was a mix of dark brown and soft honey golden hues that gave a painted complexion well fit for the forests. Freiya’s fur was a light gray with white in some areas and small streaks of black along her hackles. Balder had taken after their mother in his looks, everything from fur, to eyes as green as the grass of summer. Freiya had taken after her father, her fur almost identical to his, her eyes unlike either of her parents, an obsidian black. When she had been born, they had originally thought her blind, for her eyes did not firstly open as blue hues to come into their own, but rather, opened black and remained so. But her eyesight was fine. “Yeah?” Her haunches lowered, although only temporarily as he grinned, his tongue lolling from his jaws. “I found a cave and it’s really cool, let’s check it out!” Before Freiya could say a word, Balder had run off into the trees closeby and she was left to stand and go after him, with little choice. She found him, fairly easily just several feet into the trees, crouching low as if he were a wild cat, hunting its prey, his shoulders jutted upward as he prowled towards the edge of a hole in the ground. Nostrils flared as Freiya eyed the scene cautiously, her own body sneaking towards Balder slowly. “Let’s che-“ A grunting noise left the hole Balder was about to stick his head into, sending him scrambling back as a large grizzly stalked out of the ground, pissed off and woken up. Freiya had caught the scent too late. “Balder!” Lunging for her little brother, Freiya snapped her jaws around his scruff, hauled him to his feet and shoved him in the opposite direction. “Run!” He stared stupidly for a moment, before he gulped and shot off in the direction of home, Freiya at his heels. But the bear was quicker than the two pups and its paw swiped both of their feet from under them, sending them both sprawling. Balder let out a yelp as he landed, Freiya letting out an ‘oof’ as she hit the ground, her gaze going from the oncoming grizzly, to her little brother who was trying to pull himself upward. “Freiya!” She barely heard him as the grizzly roared and came nose to nose with her, its jaws wide, its rank breath filling her sinuses and burning them. Her eyes stared, wide at the massive beast that stood over her, its chest looming directly over her body as its paw raised to swipe at her again. As it slammed downward, the grizzly leaned back onto its hind legs, letting out a growl of surprise at the brown tuft of fur that had latched itself to its front leg. Balder had launched himself at the grizzly’s looming paw and had latched on for dear life, snarling at the bear as if his minute attempts phased it. If they had been adults, the bear would have thought twice, but they were two tiny pups. Freiya scrambled to her paws and was about to holler at Balder when the bear swung his paw and snapped it to the side, sending Balder flying. Freiya screamed as her brother slammed into the edge of the cliff, his body sliding over the ledge. “Balder!” She wasn’t sure how loud she screamed, or how fast she had moved, because time itself had become still. In the moment it took her to rush to her brother, time ticked by. It felt like several moons had come and went before she reached his side, but she was too late. As he opened his eyes to gaze at his sister, his body slipped over the edge of the cliff. Screaming for Balder, Freiya hit the edge, all but throwing herself over it in attempt to catch him. Her jaws snapped for anything – any part of him to grab onto, but he was already at the bottom. His body lay motionless, blood pooling on the rocks around his body, his limbs at angles that left Freiya shuddering, tears welling up in her eyes as the bear grunted and lumbered away, no longer agitated by the pups that had woken it from its slumber. Her breath came in ragged gasps as panic set in. She wobbled on her paws as she searched for a way down to her brothers body. Any way… Just a way… Flakes of snow were floating down from the sky, joining the white blankets that had turned Cthonia into a winter wonderland. Just as the fresh blossoms of spring and the colors of fall were, winter – in all its virgin whiteness, was beautiful to behold. The only area that remained virtually untouched were the beaches. The sun was high in the sky, making the snow thick and slushy. Hackles shivered briefly upon the she-wolf’s coat, nares spreading to accept the fresh winter air. The fires had ceased as winter had taken over. As she watched silently over her alpha’s lands, she spotted something off in the distance. Something dark against the vast whiteness… something very, very canine. Narrowed spheres observed the fur carefully for a moment, attempting to judge who it might be before she dared to approach, her acoustics lifting high on her skull to lean toward the animal. But it didn’t move, save for the bits of fur that gently shivered in the breeze. Unsure of whether or not the canine was dead or alive, Fly decided the best option, as anything remotely loyal to her King and as any part of Cthonia’s pack, she should check. Trotting through the snow, she left wisps of tracks in her wake, the belly of her fur scraping ever so slightly against the snowy surface when she came to parts where the snow had flowed into deep boughs. As she reached the body, the scent was immediately unfamiliar to her, but the browns of the fur threw a thought immediately into her mind. Balder. Pawing at the snow around the wolf’s head, she pulled the blanket of white back from the face of the wolf she had found. Definitely dead, likely frozen to death as there were no external wounds. Unfamiliar… Not Balder. But dead. That ruled out anyone that had entered the pack since the last time she had seen Virgil. But the creature may have been accepted into the pack and seen Virgil sometime after her, or, forbid, had been attempting, unsuccessfully it seemed, to cut through Cthonia’s lands to elsewhere. A stupid idea during a winter storm, of course. Perhaps the wolf had thought they could handle it and had underestimated the storm. Either way, the wolf was gone and was no concern of hers, let alone that of the pack anymore. A cougar would likely stroll on over and steal away with the body, or scavengers would. Stepping back, Fly sighed. She hated thinking back to the past. Hated to think of the past in any terms whatsoever. Her brother… Her father… Her old King… Her pack. This was her home now… This was home now. This is home now… Giving her cloak a nice shake to rid the flakes of snow from her fur, she glanced around once more, trying to decide which direction to head in to search for Virgil. Spotting a white cloak, lightly speckled with black and gray in the distance, she lifted her crown to watch silently. Courajess. A wolf of her past. It wasn’t just his cocky, confident and obnoxious attitude she hated. It was his stubbornness in pursuing her. That although she was just as qualified as him and she had come to Cthonia first, he still stayed and got a rank above her own. That he had even found her in the first place. But the ice that cake, he was part of her past, knew who she had been, knew her family and things about her that she wanted to escape. He was a danger to her heart and mind, for he was the reality she could not escape. She had resigned to coexistence with him, that he would not disappear. Her gaze followed his form traveling through the snow, leaving a path in the white behind him. Even for as much as she hated him, she respected him. He was strong, agile, intelligent and diverse in his qualifications as a pack member. A standard for what a prince should be. But he had given that up, hadn’t he? And she wasn’t sure why. Lips curled in disgust at her thoughts revolving around the male and she immediately redirected her gaze to the pup that followed in his footprints, watching as the pup attempted to stay on track and focused. Tilting her skull slightly to the side, she watched further, as Bryony fell into a snow bough and had to be lifted out by Courajess, who encouraged play and excitement at finding Virgil. The pup immediately partook in the game and bolted off. It was then that Fly realized she had wandered closer to Virgil and the others, without initially realizing just as much. Virgil, Cleitus, Avendesora, Courajess and Bryony, once known as Baby. All of them had found one another and grouped together. Brow furrowed slightly. Fly hated seeking aid by others, hated having to group together, even if she preferred pack-life. Resenting that she should go to them now, especially after her scary reminder of Balder and her thoughts on Courajess, she slowly headed in their direction, lacking any eagerness to gain ground on them. Balder… How young had they been? Balder’s death had been blamed on Fly, a blatant refusal by Fly's parents to accept that they had ever had a son who had died, much less when it was their daughter’s fault. Fly’s fault… She had been punished for her brothers death. Finally having gotten close, she slowed her approach, nodding at Virgil and no other. “I found a body. It was unfamiliar. You haven’t had anyone approach you during the storm that was new, have you Virgil? I’m afraid that perhaps he underestimated the storm and simply decided to pass through…” Still shaken, she chose not to look at Courajess, or any of the others, her eyes hardening slightly as she steeled herself against the memories of her younger brother, burying them deep within the depths of her heart. Where they belonged. wordcount;; One thousand, eight hundred, seventy-six. lyrics;; radio notes;; soooo long... sorry it took me so long to get it up.

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[Sighani]

[bg=ffffff][atrb=width,500,true][atrb=border,0,true] Stirred into a gentle flurry by a storm still two days away, the snow rose up in writhing, spectral forms until Cthonia warped into an ice-blasted Hell, land and air alike filled with ghosts dancing to a long-forgotten tune. And in the center of this white abyss, like the fallen Morning Star trapped within the ice of Cocytus, stood Vergilius Patroklos. A diamond crust of ice crowned the king's regal brow, his cloak of winter's unchained fury whipping about him in a sudden gust, the sun-blasted gold of his eyes flashing with the fires of Vulcan's forge. Cthonia had claimed him as her own, draped him in her finest white raiment, but he was not her whore, he was her king, and he would not kneel before her. "Gods be damned, Cleitus, move!" he barked out, his thoughts stoking the embers of his ire into a righteous blaze. He shoved the youth none-too-gently up and away from his support, pushing him forward through the snow because they needed to make all possible haste if they hoped to find shelter before nightfall, and he was just about to say so when another voice cut him off. Wait! The king spun on his heels, eyes searching desperately through the mist and the flurry for the source of the call, ears straining to hear something, anything, above the whistling howl of the snows. If there were any further words, they were lost to the wind, and Virgil was just about to turn back to Cleitus when he caught a phantom scent tangled within Cthonia’s punishing winds, and then an echo... No, not an echo. The call was stronger this time, more determined–not merely a snatch of memory ghosting through his tortured mind, but something real, something to which he could cling, an anchor that dragged him from the blustering madness and grounded him firmly in familiar territory. Blinking back an assault of blinding snow, Virgil turned his face into the wind once again, his heart slamming against his ribcage as hope spread like fire through his veins. Don’t let me feel that, he implored in his own mind, grappling with the emotion as if it were an old enemy. Hope was dangerous. He had seen hope make fools of the wisest of men, turn great kings into broken ghosts, bring vast empires crashing down into decay and ruin. He told himself he would not hope for the future of his pack, his kingdom, his family. He would not let it break him. And yet he could not ignore the warmth that stirred in the depths of his heart, like the newborn embers of a phoenix rising from the ashes of defeat. “What is it, Master?” Cleitus finally found the voice to implore, his dark coat smothered in a mantle of ice and snow, making a wan specter of the king’s constant shadow. Virgil stared hard into the storm, damned if he had lost already. “Listen, Celitus,” he hissed, as he knew the youth’s ears were keener than his. Though Cleitus was in no state to linger out in the elements, he stepped forward nonetheless, detaching himself from his master’s side and surrendering his senses to the storm, glacial eyes sliding shut as his ears perked forward and strained to unravel the thousand threads of this suffocating tapestry of white noise. There. He found it. Virgil’s breath hitched as the boy’s eyes snapped open. “Who?” “Avendesora.” Cleitus’ voice worked like an incantation, for as soon as the name was spoken, a phantom appeared on the fringes of Virgil’s vision, summoned, it seemed, from the wastes of purgatory. “My lady!” the king called out before he could stop himself, his body springing into motion of its own accord. He closed the meager gap between them, Cleitus struggling behind in his tracks, and before reason could direct him otherwise, he pulled the ivory maiden into a firm embrace. Relief flooded over him at the sudden contact, the reassurance that what was happening right now was real–he could touch her, feel her scant warmth, the coarseness of her winter ruff, the surprising bulk of her warrior’s muscle. This was not a cruel trick. “Forgive me,” he breathed after a moment, pulling away from her as abruptly as he’d embraced her, his eyes cast heavenward–was it to thank the gods or condemn them? He could no longer tell. A mere fraction of a second was all it took for Virgil to regain his composure, squaring his shoulders and adjusting his stance in a subtle display of dominance, for he knew Avendesora was not one to appreciate boorish exhibitions of rank. He often found his curiosity straining towards the mysteries of her past–he recognized in her the scars of lost royalty and the unshakable pride of a champion soldier, but he could never bring himself to ask. He wasn’t entirely certain he wanted to know. Some buried pasts were best left to rest undisturbed in their graves. “Thank goodness for your safe return,” he said with a sigh when he could bring himself to meet her mismatched eyes once more, the corners of his lips yearning to hitch up in a smile, if only he still didn’t have so many worries on his mind. “Would that I could give you the welcome you deserve, but Cleitus...” He cast his gaze back over his shoulder to the youth who sat in the snow some yards behind, lithe frame racked throughout with violent shivers. He trusted no further words were necessary. Avendesora’s mind was sharp. He need not voice his fears for her to understand. He spared the fae a final fleeting glance, wordlessly signaling her to follow, before he took up his place once more at his pupil’s side. He coaxed Cleitus back to his feet with gentle touches and sweet exchanges that were lost to the wind, and when they were mobile again he raised his voice enough for Avendesora to hear. “We are making our way west towards the sea. There is a series of caves there that will provide adequate shelter until this storm has passed. If I should fall behind, I trust you can find the way on your own.” The wolves fought through ice and wind for the better part of an hour before winter’s ferocity relented, the predator that stalked their every move slinking away to rethink its strategy, leaving the small pack to push forward through a blessed, though bitterly cold, clear. As the wind died, the unmistakable scent of ocean salt washed over Virgil’s senses and he knew they couldn’t be more than a few miles off. It was a bittersweet feeling, knowing he had been so close this whole time, but unable to find his way. Was he losing his edge? He didn’t have time to dwell on the possibility because a pair of voices suddenly shattered the thick silence, stopping him dead in his tracks. Courajess and Bryony. Though exhaustion had settled heavily down upon the king, unbridled laughter stirred deep in his belly and broke free of his grinning jaws as soon as he caught sight of the pair making their way towards him through Cthonia’s white wastes. “Welcome, my friends!” he called through a peal of laughter that even beguiled a run-down Cleitus into smiling, his heart warming when he saw they were none the worse for wear. Bryony crashed into his foreleg and he returned her hug with an equal ferocity, leaning down to press his cheek against her, her sweet, fresh scent washing over him and bringing him home. “I’ve missed you too, dear one,” he said softly as he pulled away, fixing her with an affectionate gaze, the sight of her, warm and full of life as ever, melting his heart within his chest. As she turned her attention to Cleitus, who, in spite of his exhaustion, summoned up enough energy to tell her the story of Virgil’s so-called ‘heroism’, Virgil shifted his own attention over to Courajess. “Avendesora found me earlier this afternoon, but I’ve seen no sign of any other before or since,” he said in response to Courajess’ inquiry. “Until now, of course,” he added as he fixed the other male with a warm gaze. “This is more than I dared hope for,” he went on in hushed tones, ensuring that Cleitus and Bryony would not overhear this conversation. “I cannot thank you enough for keeping her safe when I could not. And for returning to me when it would have been so much easier to run. You’re as reckless and foolhardy a man as I’ve ever met, Courajess. And for that I owe you everything.” Virgil touched his muzzle to Courajess’ brow in a light kiss, blessing him as the kings of old, wishing there were something more he could do to show his thanks. As if on cue, Fly chose that moment to appear before the pack. Of all his subjects he had expected to abandon him for safer waters, Fly had perhaps been at the top of the list. It wasn’t that he thought her weak or a coward–but he recognized the ambition that gleamed in her eyes, for it was the very same that he recognized in Cleitus, and she served herself before she served Virgil. And he had always assumed that she would leap at any opportunity to escape from Courajess, as he knew that their shared past continued to haunt her for reasons unknown to him, yet here she was. She was as much a mystery to Virgil as she had always been–so secretive, and so independent, and yet still so desperate to belong. As she reported to him, he wondered what could have possibly made her decide to return. “I was acquainted with several families who had been residing peaceably within my lands these last few months,” Virgil said at length. “While it is fortunate you didn’t recognize the body as anyone belonging to our pack, I hate to think how many wolves have lost their loved ones to this storm. Mates, parents, children...” He shook his head as though trying to rid himself of the thought. Cthonia was now a graveyard. “We are currently on our way to the caves by the sea. We must find shelter before nightfall. I fear for Cleitus and Bryony. They are not made to suffer this storm and should it return, it will only be a matter of time before they succumb. However, shelter is not my only concern at present. We need meat. I will continue to lead my pack to the west, and perhaps Avendesora or Courajess could accompany you on a hunt?” ________________________________________________________________

count xx 1809 words.
tunes xx "Minas Tirith" - Howard Shore.
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[Asphyxia]

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[atrb=background,http://i139.photobucket.com/albums/q292/SummerDelirium/jessmiddle.png] As a pups dead body was brought through the packs territory, Courajess watched in shocked silence. The pack had gathered for the King, ‘Jess’s father, to make an announcement, but the dead body of the youngster being brought home silenced all, including Araziel himself. Brows furrowed, Courajess glanced betwixt his father and the dead pup… And then he saw it. Freiya’s parents throwing themselves at the pups motionless body. Freiya… Where was she? “Cridhe, Altair. I am sorry for your loss.” The only words Courajess heard his father speak about Freiya’s dead brother. And then he continued. This time, about Freiya. “For three days, Freiya shall remain in The Pit as punishment for the death of her brother. After which, she will join the Camp for training to be a soldier. Clearly, the life of a Lady is not one suitable for her.” Acoustics twitched as Courajess realized what was happening. Freiya was being declared her brothers murderer. She was being blamed for his death. The first thought that came to mind was that Freiya would never have killed one of her siblings on purpose – if he knew one thing about her growing up alongside her in the same pack, it was that she treated her siblings like they were her own pups. The second was that three days in The Pit would surely break her. The Pit was essentially a hole in the ground, a rocky cave with a very narrow passageway to the ground above, within which a boulder would block the exit. The boulder was so large, it took four soldiers just to move it, leaving anyone in there trapped unless let out by others. One couldn’t dig out because of the rocky walls. For three days, Freiya would be left without contact, sun, or warmth. She would essentially be left with naught but herself and her own thoughts – something that often left weaker wolves mentally handicapped, or dead. Immediately, Courajess loped off, refusing to hear anymore. His destination? The Pit. As he reached the boulder, he could hear nothing. He recalled how many times he’d walked by and heard screams. But now, it was silence. Pure silence. And it haunted him. Had she killed herself? Knowing of a tiny crack in the rocks that left a hole big enough for insects and mice only in the ground, he ran over to it, attempting to see down into the darkness, but he saw nothing. Still, heard nothing. “Freiya?” He called out to her, hoping she would answer. Praying he would hear something. But still, he received no response. His heart was like a triphammer in his chest. What had truly happened to Balder? Surely Freiya didn’t actually kill him. But they would punish her for his death anyway, and they would blame her until she believed she were responsible. And it sickened him. It sickened the boy who loved the girl with all of his heart. “Freiya… Please answer me…” Courajess couldn’t help but smile as Virgil threw himself into Bryony’s hug, soaking in her warmth and comfort and absolute cheer at seeing each other. How could one frown at such a sight? It was beautiful, sweet and touching, all at once. It was funny, if Freiya was here to see it, she’d be frowning and likely thinking of all the unicorns and rainbows and sappy shit she made it clear she wanted nothing to do with. But she wasn’t. And he worried. His heart beat quick and with concern. His gaze shifted to Avendesora. He was glad she was safe and alive, but his worries didn’t ease any more. He knew Freiya was a soldier. A wolf very, very capable of surviving harsh storms – particularly cause of the territories they had come from. But he still worried. As Virgil went on to whisper words to Jess, he nodded. He understood, but he felt the King owed him no thanks. “You need not thank me for caring for her. I do not consider it reckless and foolhardy to return to you, one who gives so much and asks for so little, my King. I am proud to call you my King and will continue to do so with pride.” His hushed whispers fell into a silence as Virgil kissed his brow, his crown lowering slightly to accept it with a respect he held highly for Vergilius Patroklos. He could say that of very few wolves, but of this one, he could proudly say he respected a great deal. His King, his newfound friend, the man he would aspire to be and would look up to for the rest of his days. As Freiya’s scent filled the air and Virgil’s attention turned elsewhere, he glanced over eagerly hoping to see the one woman he would always anticipate seeing. Bless her beautiful fur and her dark eyes and her dark expressions – he loved her and here she was, alive and fine. As she spoke of a body found though, Courajess grew concerned. What had happened to the body? Many other families resided in Cthonia? Most pack leaders wouldn’t allow such at all, and the fact Virgil did so knowingly and without issue just made his respect for the man grow. But then he spoke of the issue pertaining to Cleitus and Bryony’s safety and Courajess immediately nodded, his gaze finally leaving the shewolf he so adored. How long had he been staring at her? A hunt? Him, Avendesore and Freiya. He found it difficult to refer to her as Fly, either spoken or unspoken, for he knew her truly and forever as Freiya. Still, he grappled with himself as he nearly slipped several times already, almost calling her Freiya with others. Would they figure it was a wrong name by accident, or would they assume it held more meaning? Bringing himself back to present and reality, he glanced at the two women, giving them each a nod. “A hunt sounds like a fair plan. I’m sure many of us are hungry.” “She’s deserted us, and you want to be the one to go after her? Would that not be a conflict of interest, my son?” Lips curled up in a slight snarl as Araziel questioned Courajess about his request to be the wolf to go after Freiya. “You were set to be betrothed to her, you’ve loved her for how many years, and you wish to be the one to either convince her to return or have her killed. Doesn’t seem like a smart request for me to approve, boy.” Courajess’s eyes flashed furiously, his gaze hardening as he stared down his father, the old man glaring right back. If the two were to go head to head, it was questionable who would win. Araziel, the old man with experience and a soldier’s history, or his younger, stealthier son, trained in the ways of a soldier. But whether or not Jess would challenge him was another question entirely. He didn’t. Instead, he held his ground, refusing to submit at his father’s very will. “She may have been my betrothed, but she betrayed the pack. Regardless of who she is, she is a weak link and holds information about this pack that leaves us in a point of vulnerability that is not safe for the future of Koel Herfst. I will do as I must.” Words. Lies. As much as he could manipulate his father, he knew in his heart that all the words were, were words. He wanted Freiya, yes, but not to bring her back or kill her. He wanted her in other ways. And he wanted to protect her from this danger. The danger of an assassin or soldier being sent to have her heart, when he could have it in so many different ways that would be much safer, sweeter… more tender. Araziel stared at Courajess for a moment, searching his sons eyes, his own eyes hard, narrowed, skeptical. Finally, he grumbled, a low growl rumbling in his chest. “Fine. Find her. Either return her, or kill her and bring her heart to be. If you do neither, you desert us as well and will be seeking the death penalty as well, regardless of who you are. Remember that, son mine. Choose wisely what you do. I leave this choice up to you. Prove yourself to me to be worthy of the crown you’re heir to.” Courajess dipped his crown slightly, before turning and loping in the opposite direction. “Courajess. I give you ten moons. Should you not return by then with her heart or with her, you will have condemned both of you.” wordcount;; one thousand, four hundred, forty. notes;; all over the place, and very shitty - there's a look into two parts of his and Fly's pasts here. one part involved when they were younger and Fly was punished for her brothers death(more of which you'll see in her next post most likely) and then when Courajess requested from his father to go after Fly himself.

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[Asphyxia]

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[atrb=background,http://i139.photobucket.com/albums/q292/SummerDelirium/fly2-Copy.png] It was difficult to recall when her perspective changed about the way Koel Herfst was run; was it when she was sent to kill a deserter, or was it after she had killed him? Naturally, being the second in command to her King and being a soldier, her King asked her to take care of the wolf – with the aid of one of his other soldiers, of course, and she obeyed. “Frieya, the King wishes to see you.” A wolf, what was his name again? Dipped his muzzle in respect and immediately fell into silence. This messenger, this boy, he ran errands and messages to other wolves amongst the pack from those in higher authority, but that was all she remembered of him. His name escaped her and as she glanced over her shoulder at him, she couldn’t believe how young he was. He was a slave, was he not? Freiya had witnessed many a time the boy had been put in his place, or brutally picked on by other wolves and none of it had been deserving. She observed him for a moment longer, but as she continued to do so, she noticed his tail slowly began to slink between his legs and his muscles tensed as if he were awaiting a beating from her, as well. Brows furrowing, she sighed and turned to face him. Upon this movement, the young wolf began to slink lower and lower towards the earth, immediately submitting himself and leaving himself open to any onslaught from the female soldier he was clearly so sure would pick on him too. Was it compassion that made such brutality towards their own pack members sicken Freiya, or was it that she simply didn’t care? Shaking away those thoughts, she finally addressed him, “What is your name again, boy?” “Score..” His words were but a whisper, pulling her acoustics forward to try to hear him better. His eyes remained upon the ground, as was expected of him. “I will see him now then, Score. Thank you.” Stepping past the young wolf, she gave him a gentle brush with her plume before leaping forward in the direction of the King’s caves. She could feel his eyes boring into her back, and perhaps that tiny bit of kindness would go enough of a way to keep him going a little longer. Who knew. As Freiya came up to the King’s and Queen’s dens, she halted and as was custom, lowered her crown, auds pressed back as she gave a gentle and quiet howl to announce her appearance. As the King descended from his caves, she felt the fur upon her neck start to raise and quickly flattened it. “Freiya… I’m afraid Laza has deserted us – he took off earlier this morn and was seen headed in the direction of the Eastern packs. You know what to do.” The King’s demand was clear. Deserted died. Regardless of whether they offered to return or held any explanation, they died. “My liege, may I ask about the young wolf named Score..?” She could feel the King’s impatience like lightning zapping the energy fields surrounding them and slowly dared to raise her crania to look upon the alpha. “Score… Score is a slave boy, what care you about his presence and the why of it?” He paused, as if awaiting an answer, but she gave none. His spheres narrowing upon his soldier, he finally answered, “Score was sent to spy on us as a youngster because the Eastern packs could afford to lose one that was not of soldier quality. He was found, and has since been residing here as a slave.” Freiya nodded, giving thanks to her King. As she turned to go after Laza, as was her command, her King stopped her. “Freiya. Do not go soft on me. I need a soldier who can do her duty and do so proudly. Take Throe with you.” Freiya cursed in her mind, but leapt off in search of Throe. Throe was one of the hardest wolves she’d ever sparred with. He was pure beast. If anyone thought he was entirely wolf, they were wrong, he was part demon. His mind was corrupted, his chassis was all muscle and his battle scars – many of which should have been deadly, proved how much more tough he truly was. He was a top soldier in the battlements, and when he wasn’t being used to assassinate, or go to battle, he was busy coming up with strategies for war anyway. He was truly a wolf, who Freiya wanted nothing to do with. As Freiya found Throe discussing what was likely perimeter runs with one of the Scouts, he glanced at her, his conversation ending and the other wolf immediately giving a nod and taking off to go perform his own duty in the pack. Freiya’s hackles rose, a light growl rumbling in her voice as she spoke. “The King wants you to go with me after Laza – he’s a deserter.” Lips curled up on the massive wolf’s muzzle, his scarred face twisting in a fury that made Freiya want to snarl back. “Laza. He was one of my soldiers. The FOOL.” Perhaps her perspectives had changed when Score had been killed… It tore Freiya apart, for he had reminded her of Balder, her youngest sibling and brother. As Freiya returned from the death of Laza, with the wolf’s heart in her jaws as a gift and proof for her King, she had known immediately upon entering the lands that the scent of death filled the air. It was not the heart of Laza in her jaws giving off that futile smell, but one so distinctly familiar, she had to go see. As she appeared at the edge of the tiny clearing in the forests nearby the King’s dens, she halted. The scene, an image that would never leave her mind again, was displayed before her. Score, clearly torn apart and dying, his body broken and bloody… The King standing over him, having dealt the death penalty himself. As the King turned and smiled at her, his explanation was simple, “He was just a slave boy, Freiya. We don’t need weak links.” The King approached, and Freiya’s crown immediately lowered, both from instinct and habit, and she gently released her hold on the heart she’d held, leaving it for the King to take. His jaws dropped, he took the heart in his mouth, and he loped off to his dens, leaving naught but Freiya and Score in the clearing. Throe had gone his own way long ago. Slowly, she approached, unsure of whether he was dead or still dying.. But as he coughed and his eyes blinked at her, her heart wrenched and she quickly moved closer. He was trying to speak, though the blood caught in his throat kept him from doing anything more than groan. Tears welled in Freiya’s spheres. Why she cared for this wolf so much, she didn’t understand; what made her so compassionate towards a slave boy, Freiya never would understand. As he shivered, she slowly lowered herself to the ground against his battered body and pressed herself into him for some warmth and comfort. In his loneliness, in a pack with nobody he knew and nobody who cared about his death, she would be the one. She would be the one who cared for him and provided him with the last bit of warmth and mayhap the only warmth he ever felt, before he passed on. Her head lowered next to his, her paw crossing over one of his as she lay next to him and watched this wolf who she knew so little of, pass on and die. She knew it was only a matter of time before Araziel sent someone after her for deserting. Even worse than just deserting, she had deserted when he’d tried to arrange a betrothal between her and his son – Courajess. Originally, she had thought it had been Courajess here to get her, but that hadn’t been the case. She had begun to wonder if Araziel had let it slide. But as she had spotted small signs here and there of being followed, she finally knew it was true – she was a deserter and she was to be put to death for it, whether she had joined another pack or not and whether or not the Prince was there too. When the storm hit, she had assumed either the wolf had gone and would return later, or that he had died. It was hide out from the storm, or death. As it were, she wasn’t sure which had become of the wolf or which wolf had been sent after her. But she knew he would be a soldier and she knew he would be strong. The worry stressed her out. After the storm, she would leave here – if nothing else, for the protection of Cthonia’s pack. Acoustics tipped forward as she listened to the King respond to what she had said. As he spoke of Cleitus and Bryony not being weathered for this storm, she glanced at them, looking over the two. Cleitus looked in rough shape and while Bryony looked bouncy like usual, she was still young and small and it was likely she had survived thus far in thanks to one of the adult wolves. When the words of a hunt came up, Fly’s spheres shifted to Ave, first, who she gave a small nod to, then to Courajess, who grabbed and locked onto her eyes. The worry she had seen before when she’d appeared, then the stark relief that flashed in his eyes made her curious. Her crown tilted ever so slightly, but she gave away nothing – not her concern over being a deserter and someone stalking her in Cthonia, nor her concern over the storm and the pack. She gave away nothing and not even her dislike over the idea of hunting with ‘jess. But she did give a small nod. Fly obeyed orders. She always did and always would. “I think it best that we ensure you get the other two to the caves first, my King, before a larger portion of us take off on a hunt – it would not be a good idea to leave you now should one of them go down and you need help getting them there.” “As punishment for your brothers death, you will remain here without food, contact or water for three days. After which, if you survive, you will join the Camp to train as a soldier with the males.” As the wolves began to push the boulder into place, Freiya started pacing. At first, it was light pacing, just checking out her new home for the next three days – this cave, this hole, this prison. And then she became frantic as she heard the scraping sound of the boulder closing over the exit and trapping her inside. Plume tucked tight between her legs, she paced and paced until her paws burned. And as she paced, she cried herself hoarse, her tears streaking her face. “Balder..” over and over and over… “Balder…” she cried his name. Screamed his name. Whispered his name. Left herself with no more voice, nothing left to say. And when she finally ran her body into the ground, she collapsed into herself, her emotions caving in on herand drowning her in tears and pain and remorse and grief. Everything she’d never felt before, everything she didn’t want to feel. Everything that began to kill a part of herself. Broken… She was left broken. Alone, scared, hurt, and she was breaking – broken. Curling up on the ground, her plume tucked tightly against her body, her eyes squeezing shut against the world, even in the darkness where she could see nothing. Her acoustics flattened tight against her skull as everything in her body ached. Had she broken a rib when she’d been slammed into the ground earlier by the bear? She didn’t know… Or care anymore… A voice… It dragged her painfully from her thoughts and back into reality. “Freiya… Please answer me…” Courajess? Was that who it was? What did the King’s son want now? Flattening her acoustics further against her skull, she squeezed glanced in the direction of the tiny shaft of light that protruded from the crack his voice filtered through. Squeezing her eyes back shut once more, she pretended his voice was the wind. The wind… and it would go away… Go away with the horrible emotions she felt and the guilt and the remorse and the grief and all of it. Everything that hurt so bad and left her broken on the ground, wishing it was she who had gone over the cliff and not her baby brother… “I can’t…” Two words. Whispered so quietly because of her hoarse voice and her sorrow, likely unheard by the wolf above. Just two words… What else did she have to say? Nothing… It was her fault. It was all her fault. If only she hadn’t let her brother go check out the cave or drag her along, or that bear get him instead… If only… Her fault, all her fault. Her brother was dead because of her. She deserved this punishment… wordcount;; Two thousand, two hundred-sixteen. lyrics;; 24 - Jem notes;; REALLY long - on a side note, first flashback is about a slave wolf that reminded Fly of her youngest brother and sort of introduces you to Throe - the wolf you'll meet later. Second flashback is when she was in The Pit, and Courajess was trying to speak to her after her brothers death - this is when Freiya essentially turned into Fly - from innocent to soldier.

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[Emmy]

[bg=white][atrb=width,WIDTH,true][atrb=border,0,true] Avendesora Mahdi Al Ellisande There are those that remain behind ...

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As she struggles through the snow towards Virgilius and Cleitus, Avendesora finds herself under attack by celestial ghosts; the snow roils around her, stirred up by ferociously punishing winds which blinded her and bound her with cold, white fingers. Her eyes are rimmed with ice, her upper lip crusted with frozen breath, and each crashing leap is followed by a gasp of air which instantly turned into clouds of ice crystals. The closer she got to the king and his heir, the less she could see of them, until she was blindly forcing her way towards where she’d last seen them in what remained of the dying storm. Please, she repeats over and over again in her head. Please, please wait, please don’t leave me, please[/b][/color].

Suddenly Avendesora feels old (so, so old), even though eight is not ten or eleven or twelve years yet. She thinks as she runs: how did this become my life?[/i] It seems to her that all of a sudden those innumerable years which used to stretch out ahead of her are now stretched out behind her, and she has absolutely nothing to show for it (just long, bitter shadows cast over ash and bone). It’s ironic, she thinks, to live all her years having either been sand-blasted and fire-burnt, and she still she compares her life to death by drowning: all this time she’s been thrashing about for something (anything) to hold on to, gasping for air as water fills her lungs. And now she’s losing the will to keep fighting. She wonders if that’s how Etain felt before the end (before she was found waterlogged, bloated and rotting on the riverbank).

It would be easier for Avendesora to move on from her grief if she had something (anything, god, anything) to replace it with. When she came here she declared herself: “Avendesora-Just-Avendesora”, as though abandoning her name and omitting (all of) the details of her past simple wouldn’t make any of It real. But she’s wrong, because she quickly discovered that, without her story, her present remains disconnected. No one in Cthonia would want to live her tale, and she doesn’t think she has the words to explain it anymore (because it’s too sad, too sad). She knows she can’t spend forever like this – as an aging wolf, living life from day to day, with no plans for the future and no sense of permanency. Yet her own lack of urgency hamstrings her. I’m waiting for something, she thinks, but she doesn’t know what for.

Every once in a while she’ll try to remember who she was before, back as a princess and warrior in the Wastelands (when the word desert meant more than just another name for hot, hot, hot; when it meant glory and honor and home). But it’s hard, too hard, because it seems now like some made-up fairytale. She remembers her childhood in pieces, shards – grains of sand, for ice maiden though she may be considered, the mind beneath her ivory fur is gold, gold, gold. Here is a piece of sky, washing by sunset with all the shades of a bruise; here with her ear pressed to her father’s chest, listening to a heart that beat with the mirrored blood that sings in their veins; here the sound of her mother’s voice, cold and commanding, telling her what to do, how to do it, when to do it (but never the more important: why). A broken memory, here, and here, there, over there; patches of thought too brightly colored, too sharply defined by blood and shouts and heat and death.

But she cannot dwell there in that shadow long, because in the few seconds (hours, it seems like hours) that she lost herself in thought, she finds herself nearly on top of the two brutes she’s been chasing (pack, they’re pack now – does that mean family?). Avendesora pauses briefly to catch her breath, cursing her snow-limited vision, and is caught entirely off-guard when Virgil pulls her into his embrace. She resists the urge to flinch at the feeling of another wolf pressing against her (“touch-starved”, that’s what Ringwe used to call her), and stands stiffly against the weight of the king. She closes her eyes against the overwhelming relief she feels and cannot resist pressing her cheek against his for reassurance as he pulls himself away. Opening her eyes, she averts her gaze away from Virgilius and instead stares at Cleitus, who sat momentarily forgotten in the snow.

Words burned in the back of her throat but they took no meaning, and died before they reached her tongue. She was so used to silence, of silently watching, that she didn’t know where to begin. Eventually, it was Virgilius who took the initiative to speak and she examines him from beneath ice-laden lashes. She ignores the shift in body language, the clear (if subtle) display of dominance; she can’t be bothered to care about such things anymore, and he seems to have accepted her disregard of protocol easily enough. Blinking slowly as he trailed off, she follows his gaze back to Cleitus shivering in the cold, and she understood his concern. “Yes,” she responds quietly, her voice hoarse from disuse, but Virgil was already moving away to retrieve his heir.

Avendesora was slow in following, waiting until the two males started moving before she moved to the support Cleitus from the other side; not touching, but close enough to catch him should he stumble. Gaze focused on where she was heading, her ears swivelled instead to catch the king’s explanation as to where to were heading. Caves[/i]? She licks her dry, cracked lips. After gaining acceptance into the pack, she’d avoided the sea in favor of flatter, drier land. A born desert-dweller, she was instinctually reluctant to expose herself to large bodies of water – even Novus Vita’s twin waterfalls had been too much (more so after Etain drowned in one of them), so she hadn’t given the beach (or the possibility of caves) much thought. “If you should fall behind, milord, I trust you’ll understand that I’ll fall beside you,” she said after a long moment.

The rest of their venture was quiet (and slow) as they fought against the howling wind; the day and the air were grey, but the storm faded the closer they got to the sea, and soon salty air was thick in her nostrils. She paused often to scoop up snow into her mouth, letting it melt slowly on her tongue, and ignored the burn in her already ice-blistered maw. When Avendesora heard the voices of Courajess and Bryony, she stopped alongside Virgilius and Cleitus and was relieved in turn to see that both had faired well in the storm. She was silent through their greetings, dipping her muzzle in acknowledgment to Couragess while Bryony charged towards Virgil, but otherwise used the reprieve to catch her breath and regain her bearings. When the young dog’s exuberance eventually led to a direct question about herself, Avendesora allowed a genuine, albeit small, smile to grace her muzzle as she looked down at the youth. “I’m not as young as a once was, little one,” she said by way of explanation for her apparent exhaustion.

Fly’s timely appearance completed the small pack. While the woman reported to Virgil, Avendesora turned her attention to Cleitus beside her, pressing her shoulder to his softly to judge the severity of his tremors. She did not say anything, but pushed as close as she dared to lend him whatever warmth she could. When the conversation turned towards the topic of a hunt, she focused her attention back on the conversation. She caught the other woman’s nod and returned it easily. “I am in agreement with Fly,” she said at last. “It would be best if we located the caves first before the rest of us leave for a hunt. We can scout for any survivors while we look for food,” she added, and she is sharply aware that this is the first time she’s willingly involved herself in pack life here in Cthonia, much less volunteered anything. But she had already decided to make this place her home now. She cannot measure into her understanding how much of herself is left, but at least her physical being is here.

It is so sad, the past. Too sad ...
... so I will not speak of it.

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Word Count;; 1422.
Comments;; It's crap, I know. I'm still sick (took one more day off) and I'm tired, but I had to get something out, so I decided to finish this post since I'd put it off in favor of sleep this weekend. Lol. I'm going back to bed, I think.
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[tyraden]

That feeling in his gut returned as he stepped onto unfamiliar territory. With each step the young wolf's tail slowly began to tuck itself between his legs and his ears started to lay back. This land was tainted; he could feel it from the claws that gripped the dirt up into his heart and from there it spread like wildfire throughout his body. It shook him to the very core. Where was he? What had he gotten himself into?

The young wolf stopped for a moment to listen. The creepiness of the forest settled on his fur making him want to curl into a ball and stay there forever. He felt dirty being here in this unknown place, in the dark. Then he heard what he wanted to hear; a low growl coming from somewhere to his left. "Soran!" He called loudly, his voice echoed through the forest. "Soran! I know that's you!" He waited several minutes for his brother to show himself. "Soran." He whispered. He stepped closer to the direction the sound had come from. As he stepped closer and closer, the rustling got louder and louder until it was right under his nose. The smell coming from the bush in front of him made him want to vomit. "Soran?" he nudged the bush with his paw and walked around, inspecting it. As he turned the corner he saw a large carrion bird pecking at something very dead. Lewie Vice froze. The carrion bird jumped around, cawed at the young wolf and flew away, bickering about privacy the whole way. Then Lewie saw the form of a decomposing animal; maggots and flies crawled all through the dead flesh. He jumped back as the only left over eye locked its frightened gaze on him. He swore he saw the thing blink in the dark. Thoroughly disgusted, Lewie turned and ran as far as his legs would take him without stopping.

When Lewie finally stopped, he found shelter in a cave. He had spent the night and most of the day there, hiding out, rethinking the last couple of weeks. Was his choice wise? He ventured out a little during the afternoon but the crisp cold weather drew him back in. He could feel the snow coming. At least, he thought in an attempt to be positive, he was in a better place. The ground didn't feel dead and the air was more clean and pure. He felt comfortable sleeping alone but still kept up his guard. Soran and the others would probably be looking for him.

The next day, Lewie woke to a beautiful white blanket covering everything. This would be the first season he would spend by himself, alone and without a family. He sighed as he thought of the times where he and his family were a whole piece, or as whole as it could be. His aunt had been the only motherly figure he could account for. She had not birthed him and his siblings, but she had taken care of them, protected them, and more importantly loved her nieces and nephews as her own. That was good enough for Lewie but for his brothers, not so much. And that's where the fighting started. Aunt Bee wasn't their mother. He wasn't sure why his brothers had a problem with that. Their mother had left them, right? Left them to die and starve while their father was away. Lewie had barely been old enough to be weened. Foggy memories of his father coming back to find their mother gone flooded his brain. He was angry and sad. Lewie could remember the howling of his father as he called for all night; the long and sad howling of a heartbroken wolf.

So Lewie and his siblings grew up under the care of their aunt, knowing since they could understand so when Soran, the boldest of the litter, asked where his mother was, their father was not surprised. Aunt Bee had briskly told the children she ran off, scared of the thought of being a mother. And Lewie was fine with that answer. He didn't rethink it or question it. Soran, however, questioned everything. Slowly Soran began to rebel. Then Xe'ahl and Gile did the same. Just following the leader, Lewie thought bitterly. But when Xe'ahl got sick, he needed Aunt Bee's knowledge to heal him and Lewie knew she did everything she could do with the resources she had. Then Xe'ahl died and Lewie's father disappeared. Soran blamed Aunt Bee for his death and the disappearance of his father. Aunt Bee wasn't meant to be a mother, Lewie remembered Soran telling him this. Lewie fought his statement and Soran briskly hit him, across the chest at first then again in his muzzle and before Lewie had time to register what was going on, Soran had him pinned the ground, ready to rip his ear off. Lewie had escaped and Soran chased him right off the small patch of land that Lewie's father owned. Lewie was an outcast to his own family.

As Lewie sat in the cave thinking of the rough time with his family, his belly began to rumble. Food, he thought longingly. As his eyes danced around the outside of the cave, the white forest in front of him caused him to wonder if food still existed in these conditions. Would he stave here, alone and cold on lands that didn't belong to him?

Lewie paced around the small stone space trying to get the blood flowing back into his legs. He stopped momentarily, his nose twitching as an unfamiliar smell rested on his nostrils. Wolves, several of them. He paused and pulled an ear back. They are headed this way. And for a small moment, Lewie paniced. He was an intruder and they would punish him for being one. Slowly the thoughts of punishment caused Lewie to calm down. He deserved it, he thought bitterly. He had snuck himself into these lands, gorgeous and serene as they were, and took shelter that did not belong to him. Maybe they would show him some mercy; after all he had been through. Lewie could only hope. That was the only thing he had left.