Shepherds We Will Be - Main RP

[Sighani]

[bg=ffffff][atrb=width,500,true][atrb=border,0,true] "Cleitus . . ." The name was sharp, harsh, clipped from iron fangs and spat into fierce winds. It was not befitting of the boy--it was ugly, in fact--and Virgil, thoughts derailed as they were, could not bring himself to begin a sentence with such cacophonous lyric. The High King paused for a heartbeat, drawing in a composing breath. "Eromenos, dear," he ammended instead, this name drifting from pliant lips in a honeysweet tide, hardly more than a breath upon the breeze, so finely sculpted, spoken in the ancient tongue of kings, "you have beauty, you have breeding, and most glorious of all, you have youth. But you are very fantastical indeed in your belief that respect is earned through manipulation and intimidation rather than a mutual acceptance and understanding. We will have words later. In the meantime, I request a private audience with the Lady Fly. My sincerest apologies, Dorian Gray. It is unspeakably discourteous of a king to so hastily cast aside new company, but something tells me you'll understand." Starshine pools graced the open expression of the heterochromic warrior for just a moment, then snapped back to the maid, hardening to orbs of sun-fired bronze as the golden gaze washed across her diamond features, inpenetrable and mystical as those ice-kissed gems. "Walk with me, will you?" The fatale's unease was not at all as well-concealed as she might have desired, but Virgil knew that it did not stem solely from Cleitus's ungainly outbursts. She had seemed hesitant upon arriving and it had not taken long before the High King had noticed her all too frequent glances toward the rolling tides. He had easily made a connection between the gem-studded waves of Cthonia's shores and her palpable wariness. He would not go so far as to assume she feared the seas and its hidden tangle of unearthly leviathans, but he could only deduce that the ever-present hush and roar of the ocean grated on her patience as surely as the hiss of torrential rains grated on the king's. She did not connect pleasant experiences with the water, of that he was certain. And while he didn't expect to hear that certain story this afternoon, he had high hopes that retreating from the water's edge would allow her to sink into the relaxation Cthonia proffered on a silver platter to all its visitors. Lean muscles rolling beneath a pelt of virgin snow, the king padded leisurely through the sand, brilliant gaze fixed resolutely on the wheat fields just beyond the next earthy rise. He cast a wandering glance back toward Fly, finding himself appreciating her exotic beauty once more, and without shame. Slender, she was, but forged of steel, fair but terrible, a pretty face carved with fierce lines of forced maturity and hardship. Her ire, the king recognized, was likely as brutal and untameable as wildfire, and just as easily sparked by a stray and thoughtless bolt from the blue. She was not a fatale to provoke with flippant comment, but neither was she above the law. Quick and merciless as her temper might have been, Vergilius Patroklos, white child of kings, son of forgotten pharaohs and heir of fallen emperors, would not abide her disregard for order and forgiveness. As he looked upon her stone-hewn vissage, he realized his duties no longer lay solely in slicing the tendrils of darkness from the Mavrokardian boy's twisted heart, but also in repairing the damage dealt to this bitter femme by the cruel claws of history. He doubted she would welcome him--perhaps she would even fight him, threaten to leave, call him names. But if the ivory king was hardened against any black arrow, it was the smoldering bolt of scorn. After enduring Cleitus's wretched adolescence, he was quite certain that he had the mental tenacity and strength of will to crack the foundations of the mountains themselves. Fly was not a patient woman. He was sure his inquiries could outlast her stubborn silence. "You are complex in your simplicity, Fly," Virgil said at length through a soft smile. "I mean no disrespect, of course. But I've found that there is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact. For example, I can deduce from your carriage and your manner of speaking alone that you are, or were, a soldier, just as you can no doubt deduce through those very same things that I am not. It takes only a novice observer to notice such things, it's nothing remarkably complex. However, the fact that you've had military experience gives rise to so many questions, the first among which is, quite simply, why are you here? What caused you to usurp your oaths and forsake your rank, driving you to reinvent your identity in a new land amongst strange faces? And what worries me most is will you do it again? "I respect the comings and goings of all the varg in these lands, but if you seek a permanent home here, I need to know if I can trust you. As a general rule, the more bizarre a thing is the less mysterious it proves to be. It is the commonplace and the featureless which are truly puzzling, just as a commonplace face is most difficult to identify. My first impression of you is that you were driven from your homeland because men are frail and pitiful creatures who cannot abide a fatale with power. There must be a reason, after all, why you took such offence to Cleitus calling you a woman. You take pride in and defend your womanhood, but it's caused you grief before. My ramblings must bore a warrior such as yourself, but I know I don't have your story right. You are too accepting of me to have been hurt by a king. But I can't for the life of me figure out why you're here. It seems so obvious, and yet real life often proves to be more mysterious and fantastical in its workings than the mind of a king. Care to offer any enlightenment?" ________________________________________________________________

count xx 1007 words.
tunes xx "Tears in Heaven" - Eric Clapton.
comments xx Sorry for the horrible wait. This post is icky but at least it's something.[/size]

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[Asphyxia]

"When you're older, your happiness will fade to give way to the darkness you hide beneath you. You cannot remain nothing but happy forever."[/size]

“Baby, that is what I shall call you. You are but a tiny baby and so very cute like one.” Courajess swung his mug toward the young whelp that trailed at his heels, her gaze searching the surrounding area with a good wariness that he was surprised she had. Most whelps romped about without abandon and did not think so much as once of the possible dangers. But although this youngster romped about, she stayed within easy range of Jess and it made him feel far more secure with her than having to chase a rambunctious ball of fur all over the place. “Are you sure you don’t remember your name, child?” A frown slipped upon the large white hessains jaws as he gazed upon her and came to a slow halt. Shaking her crown furiously, she squeezed her spheres shut. Finally, peeling them open, she glared back at him. The pups stomach let out an angry, hungry growl and in her haste to hide from the noise, tripped over her own pads and face-planted upon the ground. Courajess gave a chuckle. “Aye, you’ve never been hungry before. Well, let us find something for you to eat, shall we?” Tilting her small crown at him in curiosity, she watched as he continued padding along the field before giving a yelp of surprise and launching herself into an awkward run to catch up.

The pudgy whelp shuffed her front paws in anxious excitement, plume wagging furiously behind her little body. A grin split apart her tiny maw, spheres sparkling in mischievous eagerness. A giggle broke free from her throat, “Oh sir! I do not think I could ever be nearly so large as you guys! My mama was never a large dog. But I thank you!” Her hip brushed against Cleitus’ paw as she was still beneath his chest, but now, she lifted herself onto all fours, eager to hear about what Dorian would say. Frustration spread a frown upon her visage, chocolate orbs flickering to the lady Fly briefly as she and Cleitus spoke. Rolling her shoulders forward, puffing her chest out as she sucked in a deep breath, she let out a tiny squeak of a growl in protest to the woman and her insults toward Baby’s newfound friend.

As Cleitus apologized to Virgilius, Baby stuck out her lower lip on a pout before nudging Cleitus’ leg with her small nose. “You were just defending yourself, though…” Lifting her gaze to Virgil, her brow furrowed, before she redirected her attentions to Dorian and observed him silently. He seemed very pleasant and quite friendly. And he was a handsome varg, no doubt. Although Baby was still curious to learn more about him. “I don’t think I could ever be bigger than Virgil, no I don’t.” Tipping her crown back, she gazed at Cleitus’ in a manner that left him upside down in her vision. Giggling, she looked back upon Dorian as Cleitus apologized. “Oh yes! Please tell us of yourself! I do love an ad…ad…venture? Yes!” The excited pup quickly romped a pouncing, playful circle around Dorian before returning to sit in front of Cleitus.

Chocolate hues shifted to watch as Virgil excused himself and walked off with Fly, no doubt to discuss business with her. But her gaze was quickly upon Dorian Gray once more and she was thrilled to be able to fill her head with tales. “I love tales! Oh please, Dorian! Please tell us! I promise I’ll be good and quiet and I’ll listen too!” Shifting her weight, she plopped her hindquarters none too gracefully upon the earth, tiny needle-like teeth glinting in the sunlight as her grin never faded. Acoustics shifted forward eagerly upon her crown, the one, as usual, flopped over. Plume continued to wag veraciously behind her plump, furry chassis.

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"I don't think so, Sir."

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[Taboo]

The steel flint of Cleitus' almondine optics brazed Dorian...it first cut through calloused skin before knitting it together into a clean scar. Those raging eyes didn't result from his presence, a phenomenon that shocked him into delegating few words. Conversation between him and Fly wasn't terribly vicious, but definitely strained painfully between the two. Something else crept behind the lines of muscles in his face. The sharp angles that subtly hinted anguish and bitterness failed to totally cloak the great secrets that swelled within the younger wolf. Dorian pondered if his inquiries of his background stemmed from actual interest or a diversion from the irritant. His mind deviated from the scene as the rolling planes of Cleitus’ pelt of moonless night allured forgotten memories and scattered pictures. Dorian knew night and darkness too well. And not necessarily in a metaphorical sense. He was born under the cloak of shadow with a thin falcate moon shedding beads of silver onto the cold body of ground that his slick body wriggled upon. The Tricarne pack fell susceptibly to omens. They strongly upheld the belief that nature knew all the future, and chose to reveal pieces in mysterious and sometimes unreadable ways. As the moderately sized pack huddled together to witness his birth, strong fear and awe weaved around their savage minds. Every child prior born in the depth of twilight transformed into powerful warriors, shaman, into half-deities. It was a rare occurrence, and so when they gazed down at the bloodied, struggling body of Dorian, they knew he would grow to disperse their anarchy and sanction the rise of a demonic society. While he waded in lost thought, the sun waned further from the sky and glared into his direction. The speckled hessian shied from the overwhelming beam of light, and positioned himself comfortably in a triangle from Cleitus and Baby
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Whispered tones issued from Virgilius as he excused himself from the gathering. Delicate shifting of his cranium delivered a peripheral grin of acknowledgement and acceptance. Virgil’s soft bearing unsettled Dorian only because he never experienced the likes of it prior. The slender and picturesque form of the Leader retreated along with Fly from the three of them. Immediately the ambience released the tension tightening around them as the two aggressions separated. Without the innocent presence of Virgil nearby, Dorian’s anxiety about recreating his past eased slightly. Only one more untarnished entity remained. His story was not for children, unless they wanted to be catapulted into the adult world years before they need to or should. However, even though the brawny soldier knew very little of tactical speaking, many applauded his story telling skills. If he edited out the sinister and gory details, his past would prove interesting and tolerable. It didn’t leave much to tell, though.

He watched Baby with a touch of affection and disclosure. At such a young age, she had already grasped some mechanics of genetics. How did she know about inheriting parents’ characteristics? She’s so young…perhaps she learns so quickly, Virgil needed to jump ahead in her teaching. Dorian would need to simplify the workings of his pack, since they initiated a complex construction. A sigh built up in his chest. This would definitely require in-depth strategy. After taking a minute to stew it over cautiously, Dorian opened his maw to begin.

“I only served one other pack before coming here. I am not one of those picaresque creatures that thrill from living a lone life. My old family called themselves the Tricarne. Decades ago, they carefully selected a name to befit their principles. The name translates crudely into ‘three meats.’ Since wolves are a carnivorous,” he paused amidst sultry pitch to glance down at Baby. “Or a meat-eating animal, they consider meat as a life substance. So the name is meant to mean ‘three lives.’ They believed that to live well and prosperously, they need to join the past, present, and future…which are the three lives that everyone experiences before they die. We housed in a small, stone ruin. Humans must have lived there a century ago before abandoning their buildings to be slowly erased by time. That was our connection to the past. The wolves in their prime were considered to be the present, and at the start of every spring, they engaged in mock battle to display their strength.” Although Dorian desperately tried to avoid it, the last bit was altered truth. The strongest deemed pair of wolves fought to the death. The pack rewarded the survivor with the best choice of the hunt until the next victor. He refused to address death in his recollection to Baby. “Lastly, the elderly represented the future. Each death of an aged member was highly celebrated for living a full and healthy life. I liked it there..for a while at least. But the older I got, the more I realized they were a mean and cruel pack. So eventually I left. Along my journey, I heard of some other groups, but none of them fit what I wanted. A sanctuary. When I heard of Cthonia, though, I decided to check into it. And that’s how I got here.” A smile flitted across his rosy kissers before dissipating. He entirely left out his parcel of becoming Alpha and his lifestyle with the Tricarne. His mismatched eyes strayed to Cleitus. “I think serving Virgil will be the best thing for me,” he added softly.

[Asphyxia]

[bg=000000][atrb=width,530,true][atrb=border,0,true] Shifting her weight precariously, the female tilted her slitted gaze toward Cleitus, narrowed spheres meeting his as she remained silent and listened to him continue his rant. Howbeit, she didn’t add another word, simply for the sake of respect to Virgil and to not continue their charade of endless word battles. To her, word battles were useless. They served no purpose other than to taunt the other wolf and thus far, it hadn’t provoked her enough to take his throat between her jaws. Now physical battles… They proved ones strength, ones courage, ones readiness for ambush. At one point, Fly had loved to spar the males in her previous pack. She had enjoyed taking them to the ground and triumphing, proving herself to be worthy of the rank she held. But after having gotten lost in rage in a true battle and nearly crippling another, her King had ordered her sparring to end and for her to no longer fight unless enemy encompassed upon their lands. Acoustics shifted toward Virgil as he spoke of Cleitus’ breeding and of manipulation and intimidation. While Fly was not a female to manipulate others to get what she wanted, she was the type to intimidate, so her weight shifted once again, uneasily, spheres landing upon Vergilius. Plume swayed behind her frame, talons dipping into the soft sand beneath her pads. She didn’t like the way the sand slid between her toes, so when he requested leave with her, she was a little relieved. Perhaps they would leave behind the crashing waves and the hot sand to grass and silence. As his words directed toward her, Fly dipped her crown and gave a slight nod, before her body turned slightly to follow him, pads gently falling upon the earths surface. Her spheres scanned the surrounding lands as they moved, her gaze lifting to follow his toward the fields. Auds shifted back upon her skull before tipping forward once more, gaze meeting his as he glanced back at her, curiosity flashing in her black spheres. As he spoke to her again, her ears lifted and turned to listen better to his lyrics, gaze still scanning the lands about them as she remained silent and let him speak. She didn’t have to look at him to know the smile was there, although she was curious and a little uneasy about his words. Here it came, where he would ask of her past and of why she had come and she would offer an explanation. As always, an honest one. No matter how uncomfortable it made her. “Aye, Sir. I was a soldier. I was second-hand to my King, directly below his Queen. Howbeit, I see you wish for an honest and truthful answer, so I shall offer it to you… You have asked, thus you shall receive…” Tilting her crown toward him, her lips parted to speak, “I’ll be entirely honest here, my King, for I am only telling you of these things because I do wish to remain and eventually earn your trust as well. My Queen believed me to be having an affair of sorts beyond the political expectations of my rank, and thus, my King, to ease her discomfort, derived a plan with my parents to arrange a betrothal to another soldier of whom I knew nothing of.” “My duties and loyalties to my King told me to do it and remain the utmost soldier I could be. But my heart and mind would not allow me to. I could not go into a betrothal with a man I knew so little of, or liked so little of for that matter, only to satisfy a jealous Queen that I had not sworn my loyalties to. I was raised to be loyal to my King and only my King. His father had been betrayed by his own Queen and thus, the precautions taken were to have me only loyal to one master, simply for the protection of the pack. I did my duty and for it, I was to be handed to some chosen heir. I hope you can understand why I had left.” Narrowed spheres locked with Virgil’s, waiting silently for a retort, “I apologize for my defensiveness toward Cleitus, of my being a female. In my homelands, it was nothing short of scandalous that my King had chosen a female as his second-hand and as his military ops. Even the Queen was to have very little to no say in the goings on of the pack. I have been forced throughout my life to defend my ranking, and although I understand I hold none here, I also refuse to be considered lower based upon gender.” “You, Vergilius Patroklos, do not seem to me the unequal, inconsiderate King. In fact, you seem far from and appear to deal much respect to your pack, even for as little as it currently is. I believe here, I could find a fair and comfortable home and no, I can assure you, Sire, I have no intentions of moving on elsewhere unless you wish for me not to stay.” Brow furrowed slightly as she glanced about to look for the easiest route out of the lands should she be declined her stay. But she quickly snapped her gaze back to the King and forced herself not to look for a quick getaway. Not this time. Pads slowed slightly as they finally landed upon a different substrate, acoustics flattening upon her skull. “If you so wished it, you would have my utmost loyalties and trust, but I must apologize, for I do only serve under one ruler. Everyone else, I view as my equal.” Tilting her crown in his direction, she came to a halt, her muscles slightly relaxing at the change in terrain and the different atmosphere. Here, she could be herself, unfettered by the oceans crashing waves and endless scrutiny. wordcount;; nine hundred eighty-three lyrics;; this time imperfect - afi

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[Sighani]

Cleitus Mavrokardia...
Heart of Darkness

The golden glow of Virgil's gaze washed over him and thawed the biting frost of glacial orbs, the black-hearted heir lowering his stare to the sands, breath slipping shallowly between deftly-trembling lips. A scarlet rose shook in his blood and shadowed his cheeks a violent rouge beneath his mask of ebon velvet. But it was not a blush of youth and spring romance. It was fueled by the crimson fires of jealousy, well fed by the recollection that his master's eye roved as far and wide as the sun it so fiercely mirrored. Was the new woman to become just another easy conquest? It never failed to surprise Cleitus how easily women fell to a clever turn of phrase and a silver tongue. They were weak-willed, a decorative sex, raving for hours about nothing but saying it with the utmost charm and seduction their sly devils had breathed into their souls. They represented the triumph of matter over mind and there was not a single travesty in myth nor in history that was not the fault of some conniving maiden. His mind strayed to Helen of Ilium and how her mindless folly not only destroyed her lover, but razed the greatest empire in the world to the very ground. Ire flooding his veins like molten ore, Cleitus could not help but wonder if Fly was to be Cthonia's own Helen. Vile seductress. Foul temptress. Could the High King not see through her gilded veil of deception?

Attention returning at last to the dual-toned jewels of Dorian Gray, Cleitus nodded in understanding, attempting to slake the flame of envy with polite formalities. Doubtless Dorian had recognized Cleitus' need for distraction, but the brujo was courteous enough to feign ignorance, and for that Cleitus was indeed grateful. He had already made a fool of himself vying for the High King's approval. He would not make the same mistake twice in one afternoon. Free at last of his master's vigilant watch and sharp tongue, Cleitus, although somewhat insulted of being cast aside to be dealt with at a more convenient hour, watched the retreating form of the ivory monarch with a vague sense of relief. He felt he could speak freely now, among pleasant acquaintances, without the hassle of checking his tongue every other turn for simple mistakes and crude phrases. A child and a foreign warrior knew nothing of his nobility, and he saw no reason to keep up the pretense. He was thankful for the chance to shrug such a gaudy mantle off his weary shoulders, if only for a moment.

"Interesting," the obsidian youth murmured, dwelling for several heartbeats on the Tricarne. Virgil had taught him enough of the ancient tongue--the language of kings, his master often called it with a fleeting smile--for him to deduce the meaning behind the name, and because of that he felt his ego swell briefly, suddenly realizing that a year of training had not been as fruitless as he often worried when he saw that shadow steal across Virgil's eyes. An instant later, he found his thoughts straying the Dorian's mention of humans and his breath hitched. Although Virgil did not believe in taboos, Cleitus always got the distinct impression that words of the two-legged creatures of wolven lore were not appropriate for daily lessons better spent on mythology or inter-pack politics. He had the sudden urge to stop the heterochromic brute in the middle of his life's story and ask him to expound further on the topic, but his upbringing, for once, got the better of him, and he banished the desire to a neglected corner of his mind whence whims and fancies seldom escaped.

"My master has a certain talent for attracting the tired and the oppressed, it seems," he said with a far-off smile, reflecting on all the aspects of Dorian's past that had correlated so closely with his own. Of course, Cleitus had only been born into the sin and hellfire of the Mavrokardian empire; he had not been forced to endure the cruelties of his own flesh and blood as this man had. He did not pity him, but to a certain degree, he could empathize with the longing to purify the blood of familial venom and start anew. "He is a good man, fair as kings come, and wise. I love him as a disciple loves his teacher. I only wish I could love him as loyally, devotedly, unselfishly, and purely as he loves me. But I have much yet to learn." Cleitus lowered his frostbitten eyes, fearing he had said too much in the presence of a stranger, knowing the importance of appearances. In spite of what Virgil had taught him of morals, right and wrong, good and evil, Cleitus knew that it didn't so much matter if something was wrong, but if it seemed wrong. His relationship with the High King was complicated, but he did not need to stir the embers of red-hot suspicion by speaking so freely, especially in the absence of his master. While Cleitus had a way with words, he could much more easily work his way into a terrible situation than find his way out of one. In that respect, as in so many others, Vergilius Patroklos Rex had him beat.

Sparkling seafoam whispered through the short lull in the conversation. Swallowing his humility, Cleitus regained his composure, one nimble paw drifting idly down the spine of the girlpup underfoot, lips curled in the half-slung and lazy smile he so rarely got the chance to use. The young hessian was really quite charming, beneath the scowls and glares that so often twisted his soft features into something harsh and abused, but no degree of warmth could douse the coldfire in his eyes that chilled his soul into something much older and much more fragile than it should have been. "I daresay you've hardly slaked the girl's curiosity," Cleitus said with a lilting chuckle in regards to Dorian's story. "You made a grave mistake in mentioning battle without lingering on all the grizzly details. Baby's a ruthless savage if ever I knew one. Don't let her size fool you--she'd sooner wrestle a bear than frolic through wildflowers."

He laughed again, nudging the whelp playfully, the natural joy of the songbird ringing through his clear voice. His eyes caught the melody and echoed it in radiance, then closed for a moment, as if to hide their secret. When black lashes fluttered, delicate and gauzy as moth wings, back open, the cool mist of a dream swirled across those icy depths. He was a creature facing constant conflict, and he knew more than he liked to admit, but less than he desired. Did others recognize that in him as easily as he recognized it within himself? It was a source of perpetual frustration, and even as he teased the child, he felt it bubbling up like bile in the back of his throat, bitter and foul. It was harmless play, and he knew that Baby enjoyed all the attention doted upon her, but he knew he should not be encouraging her in such ways, to be careless and flippant regarding the lives and histories of others. There was nothing to suggest that Dorian's past should be taken so lightly, and if he was forced to flee his homeland, it was likely still a tender wound, no matter how cleverly he could try to disguise it and dress it up for younger eyes. Cleitus himself was barely more than a child. Virgil took great care to remind him of that fact constantly.

"I hope we're not being a bore, Dorian," Cleitus said after a brief tussle with Baby, eyes crinkled at their corners in mirth even as his heart ached for guidance in this most recent dilemma. He could only hope that any damage he might have caused, Virgil could smooth over with his expert paw. "You must be tired after your journey and I doubt you care to sit here all day and exchange idle pleasantries. Is there anything I can do for you? I don't know how long my master will be with the woman." He caught himself before he could cast a glance toward the fields, fearing the blade that sight would drive through his already wounded heart. He needed distraction. Lingering would only give the wound more time to fester and rot.

Is it bright where you are?

[Emmy]

That great mystery of Time, were there no other; the illimitable, silent, never-resting thing called Time, rolling, rushing on, swift, silent, like an all-embracing ocean tide, on which we and all the Universe swim like exhalation, like apparitions which are, and then are not: this is forever very literally a miracle; a thing to strike us dumb, -- for we have no words to speak of it. Time is the most subtle yet the most insatiable of depredators, and by appearing to take nothing it is permitted to take all; nor can it be satisfied until it has stolen the world from us, and us from the world. It constantly flies, yet overcomes all things by flight: and although it is the present ally, it will be the future conqueror of death. The wheels of nature are not made to roll backward: everything presses on towards Eternity; from the birth of Time and impetuous current had set in, which bears all sons and daughters of all toward that interminable ocean.

Fantasy, all of it, had been beautiful in the way that all dying things are beautiful; nothing within it's borders ever survived for very long. The whole of the territory was a bed of rotting feathers and scraps of skin and threads of fur, and one knew melancholy there for it devoured all. Bones slept under the solemn earth, under the dying leaves. Those old, old bones, and now they are accompanied by the new; charred and desiccate. The wind howls, like those grim, gray ghosts of wolves stalking the unmarked, blackened paths and sliding through the atmosphere, unchallenged by greater hunters. The few who survived leave; softly, softly as the going of ghosts, and ghosts are all they leave behind.

At least there was fire at the end, everything going up in clean ash, rising with the red and orange and white of the expanding flames, a hot breath that tore down the forests and fields, and scarred the mountains and shores. Avendesora had never really known fear before then, but it froze her heart and her limbs at the border, and she stood there with fire in her eyes and smoke in her lungs and ash in her fur. She hadn't wanted it to end this way; she still had so many things to do, so many mistakes to atone for. But as swiftly as the blaze had been struck, it went out. And then there was nothing, nothing left but embers and the skeletons of trees and the smell of singed fur and flesh, and Avendesora hadn't burned.

It is so sad, the past. Too sad.

Memories are little graves you dig for yourself, and while you wish, wish, wish, for time to turn back on itself, you don't realize how far into the ground you are until it is too late, and you can't find your way out. The only purpose of memory is to show you the tombs of your buried hopes; it is purely a device of torture, showing you all that you regret, all that you do not have, all that you have lost, why and how you hurt. They are things for Avendesora to take out late at night and turn over and over in her mind, relishing their weight and misery before putting it away again.

"Where will you go, now that everything you fought for is gone?"

Djevik is bold enough to make his words gentle, though she knows it is another of his masks, a mockery of kindness, for he has never brought himself to ever care. Avendesora inexplicably finds herself furious, wanting to slash him across the face and spit on him and pull open all his scars, but then she takes a moment to distance herself from such a terrible,

beautiful fantasy, and breathes deeply to calm herself. It is too late for bloodletting, and she's had enough of death now to last her a thousand lifetimes.

"I don't know," she allows, refusing to look at him and staring instead at the ruins of her kingdom from where she sits.

If her brother knows she is angry he doesn't show it, or likely doesn't care, and speaks again, asking, "Is it all still worth it, do you think?"

His words were an echo of a long-ago conversation, back when she was still a young Queen, back when her broken heart and all her faults were still fresh and raw. 'You couldn't save your people. You couldn't save your sister. You failedfailedfailed.' Avendesora found herself unable to move; she felt as though she were pierced, straight through the heart. Words burned in the back of her throat but they took no meaning, and died before they reached her tongue.

Djevik goes on, "I wonder if you still believe that, if given the chance, you would still do it all over again."

There is a long silence, one in which she curses his name a thousand times in her head and wishes she were anywhere but where she is right now. "Yes," she finds herself saying, the same answer she had uttered years before, voice bitter and anguished, "of course."

Djevik laughs, a sharp sound, like a bark, and Avendesora turns to face him sharply. He is watching her, looking neither pleased nor displeased, but secure in the knowledge that the outcome he had predicted had come to pass. Another echo of before. It makes her hate him just a little bit more, because history should never repeat itself in such ugly ways. Finally, he decides to take pity on her as he stands to leave.

"What shall I tell them when I return to the Wastelands?"

Avendesora ponders the question, but only for a moment, because she already knows what she will say.

"Tell them ... tell them I am dead. Tell them I burned with the rest of Novus Vita and Fantasy."[/center][/i]


In another place, a land far from the home she once claimed, morning hovers on the far side of the earth, flashing a slender blade that curves like a smile and flashes nacreous in the deep darkness. For a moment, nothing dares to move or breath. Then, with a great sigh, night rolls to one side and suddenly the bright blade arcs outward, sinking, twisting, cutting cool paths across the terra and then suddenly splits wide.

With her form pulled beneath her as she sat, shoulders stiff as she braced herself against the gusts of wind that blew in from the ocean, Avendesora watched wave rolling in after wave as it crashed upon rocks and crawled up the beach. In the distance, she knows there are wolves, but their scents are drowned out by the salt and the sea air that she takes her time in making her way towards them. It's been weeks since she has spoken with another wolf, but she no longer has responsibilities to uphold as Queen, and it is a bitter freedom. She was born into royalty, came to the throne in her youth and maintained her rule for more than three quarters of her life. But that was all gone, now, and she is nothing; just ... common.

As the sun rose and the warmth of summer made her itch for movement, Avendesora stood and walked along the waters edge, letting the waves lap at her ankles instead of having to toil through sinking footsteps in the sand. The breeze ruffles her ivory coat and cerulean eyes glow bright in the sunlight. She knows that she still holds her head a little too high. She knows the gentle curve of her back is still too strait and the stiff legs she walks on could be considered challenging, but she's never had to bow to another wolf, and she doesn't know how to be subservient.

All too soon, the forms of wolves come into her vision and she slowly makes her way towards them, removing herself from the water and finally cutting across the sand; immediately she feels the grittiness between her toes and is strangely reminded of her birthplace. As she closed in upon them, she quickly examined the two males, a dark-coated youth who could be no older than her own son, and a pale-hued hessian. And then she spots the child, so young, sitting at their feet and can stop herself from thinking of her own children when they had been that age; it seems so long ago now. Closing the distance, she stops a few feet away, respecting the fact they were engaged in conversation, but not having the patience to wait to be called.

"Hello," she says, voice soft, soft; the gentle passing of a whisper-smooth pelt before the incisors descend. "You'll have to forgive my intrusion, but I think perhaps you can help me. Who here is Lord, and where might I find him?"


Notes:: Though it sucks, I'm strangely pleased. Lol. Even if it was focused more on memory than actual movement or interaction, I am happy to be role-playing again.[/size]

[Asphyxia]

"When you're older, your happiness will fade to give way to the darkness you hide beneath you. You cannot remain nothing but happy forever."[/size]

Baby rolled under Cleitus, her pudgy chassis shifting its weight from side to side as she fell to her back, staring upside down at Dorian Gray. Her floppy acoustics listened to every word he said with definitive interest, curiosity flashing through her bright chocolate orbs, plume wagging furiously behind her small frame. Ever word was soaked in. Glancing briefly to Cleitus, her loud whisper rang out in a quick squeak, “Cleitus, what’s pi..caresque…?” Her ability to learn and hold onto those things she learned had earned her way through life this far and while it was a small feat, it was one she had made almost entirely on her own at this age. Learning fast was a skill and it had kept her alive. But she got a thrill from new knowledge and when she learned new words and how to properly pronounce them, she was even further proud of herself for it.

Gazing back to Dorian, her full attentions were quickly returned to his stories, intent on the possibilities of learning something, whether it be about other packs or about Dorian himself. “Mock battle is like sparring, right?! I used to spar lots with my friends! Theys was fun, they was.” Baby listened intently until Dorian completed his story, bright spheres locking with his in excitement. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll like it here! Virgil is so awesome! Yup. He’s like… I don’t know. He’s just fun and he’s nice, mhm.. He doesn’t get mad at me if I make a mistake!” Slowly, the puppy rolled so that she lay sprawled, her hind legs stretched out behind her frame, forelegs stretched forward, plume still wagging as furiously as possible.Her one stand-up aud shifted toward Dorian.

“What did they do that was so cruel that you left Dorian Gray? I’d think they did some very bad stuffs…” Her spheres shifted to the ground slowly, her thoughts wandering for a moment before a grin plastered across her little mug, spreading her lips from her canines in genuine happiness. “But.. But.. Didn’t you have any friends?! Cleitus has friends. I think you’s would too!” Tilting her crown toward Dorian,she listened to Cleitus speaking, before her crown snapped back to stare up at Cleitus’s throat. “CLEITUS! I’m not mean! And a bear wrestle would be fun!” Brow furrowed, she profusely stuck her tongue out at him, much in the manner of the child that she was, blowing her cheeks into round mounds as she made a growly noise. “But oh, Dorian! Stories of friends and battles and all that stuff would be so wonderful if you ever have a time when you want to tell me more, please!”

As she felt herself get nudged, she snapped her tiny jaws in the direction of Cleitus’ paw, jaws producing a resounding snapping sound as she did so, before connecting with the paw of the man. She gently gnawed on his toe for a moment, before releasing him and snapping her crown over in the direction of a white female strolling towards them. She looked deep in thought and plenty full of interesting stories and soon, Baby had completely drowned out Cleitus’s voice. Scrambling to her pads, her tail paused mid-wag, acoustics straining forward, as much as the flopped and standing ears could, nasal passages shifting to get at her scent. As soon as the Lady wolf got close and spoke, Baby was moving forward, holding her head high as she could, although it proved of little use in the presence of much larger canids.

“Hiya, Miss! Virgil - that’s the Lord in these lands by the way, or Vergilius Patroklos to be formal, yup., He’s busy with another lady Fly at the moment. But we can help you, we can, until he’s more… available!” Chocolate orbs lifted to lock with the womans blue spheres, tipping her skull slightly to get a better look as she plopped her rear two feet in front of the females forepads. “Cleitus here is very good at informations. He’s like Virgil’s guy, y’know. So you could get Cleitus’s help! Oh, I hope you like him, not many ladies do. I think Virgil and I might be the only ones, it’s sad. Cleitus needs more friends!” Her attentions quickly left the woman and snapped to Dorian, “Dorian Gray, you’ll be our friends, won’t you Dorian Gray?”

[/size][/color][/center]

"I don't think so, Sir."

[/size][/right]

[Taboo]

Anarchy in itself wields a contradiction. For anarchy requires a mass of bodies to exude and unveil. A mass of bodies that willingly deliver their logical senses, or even the organic drive to live over to chaos. For anarchy to truly occur, a group of beings must choose panic over sensibility. Nothing forces one to panic. Well, for an extended period of time, anyways. There is that momentary shock that literally rips away the divide between the conscious and the unconscious. We give ourselves to our id. But that unconscious-conscious action does not last forever. No, not even for more than perhaps a couple minutes. Once the initial shock that prompts an automatic reflex has withered in its split-second terror, we are once again given our free agency. So, anarchy cannot happen we must make a unanimous decision to give ourselves over to bedlam. It is because anarchy in itself presents too much irony, that the world has only witness anarchy very few times in the stretch of time. But small portions of anarchy has presented itself far more commonly than the full elapse. The Tricarne precariously walked the border of anarchy. The only thing that even defined them as an organized group was their crudely put together beliefs. They randomly selected certain wolves to keep watch over subjects or events that classified into past, present, or future. As long as the things that represented those three ideals were acknowledged, that was all that was truly needed to satisfy the three pieces of their god that ruled life with time. Other than that, the pack ran amuck. Whatever desires overtook them, they sated. Or sometimes threw up random competition of abstaining from certain needs or wants.

For a long time, these unstructured wolves didn’t even put a name to their bizarre lifestyle. Eventually, though, they felt some sort of pressure to title themselves and plastered the most fitting affixations from an ancient language to bestow on themselves. Those outside of the Tricarne refused to concede that they were a pack. The Tricarne were just rogues with a loose, common belief. Nothing more than that. That is why, when Dorian wriggled his bloodied limbs in the freezing night air, and whimpered airy protests that the Tricarne felt a strong alteration within them. Looking down at the vulnerable ball of flesh, the dominant sensation of the future loomed over them. Here at last, their designated leader manifested unto them. They were waiting for something to change, and until that night they did not know what it was. A grin usurped the speckled visage of the birthing mother. What was the name, Madame? They asked, curious. “Dorian Gray,” she breathed quickly. Her favorite name now would engrave someone vital and important in all their lives.

Dorian maneuvered his weight onto one side to digress from his speech obscurely. Was it strange that a wolf spawned from a fearing and awed gathering of his same vicious species now quelled uncomfortably from the stair of a still maturing hellion and a child? His environment differed so variably from theirs. Just from that momentary visit with Virgil he knew they were expected to be so good, so moral. He wanted that now, but if they knew his past, would that change their perspective on everyone can change? Would they feel he far exceeded the ability to transform himself? Not that Dorian necessarily wanted to be forgiven of his past trespasses, but he wanted to avoid repeating them. Never mind. Whether Virgil, Cleitus, or Fly believed he should or should not be given the chance didn’t matter. He would fight for it because he was close to making the transformation, not because he deserved it. The sudden morale blaring inside his luckily unreadable thoughts boosted his confidence. Those contrasting eyes flashed impenetrably back at Cleitus as a complementary grin fringed his lips. “Is she now? I hope she wouldn’t do something as rash as that.” His expression lapsed to a casual, joking manner as he glimpsed quickly to that energetic pup who kept tripping over herself.

Though the young student applied the boredom to Dorian, the lightly dappled bru knew enough social skills to deduct that Cleitus spoke of himself. Ever since the Alpha stepped away to converse with Fly, it seemed that the dark-figured companion scattered his attention. To help ease the possible bruised ego behind his hosting skills, Dorian added, “No offense, but it is hard for a conversation to be riveting when someone is so new. Although painful and wished to avoided, introductions are a necessity. If you want to build a sturdy foundation with all the newcomers, anyway.” Most likely he made the situation even terser. Dorian always lacked in orating skills. He happily played the part of a blank-minded soldier able to rip apart meat and bone. Dorian wouldn’t mind being taught how to tact his speaking. No one ever stepped up to the challenge, however.

Their faltering discussion died completely when the ivory studded pelt of a fae waltzed into their midst. A nostalgic smile split his maw when Dorian reflected that if he still led the Tricarne, they would have announced it as a sign to change subjects, or else. Especially since she was lightly hued. Those mongrels always came up with ridiculous omens. Later, Dorian began to believe it was because they liked playing God’s advocate. Before he responded to her inquiry, Baby beat him to it. The fact that she spoke first though probably saved him. He staked no rank here, he had no right to pledge to Virgil’s status. Her honest and bold answers stopped him from filtering his thoughts and allowed him to smile openly at the stranger. Perhaps he should stop plotting his words so much and openly allow his coarseness. Otherwise he couldn’t improve upon it anyways. “You are very welcome to join in if you wish.” As Baby mentioned Cleitus’ bad disposition he looked over to her in chastisement. “Well I like him,” he announced so that hopefully Baby learned not to assume such negative ideas. “And of course I’ll be your friend and tell you my battles, including all the gory details.” The lupe swung his head in amusement and slight exasperation, his voluminous mane shivering lusciously.
[/size]

[Sighani]

Cleitus Mavrokardia...
Heart of Darkness

Children ripen like wheat, and in the summer they grow heavy with new knowledge and unfurl. Cleitus laughed softly in response to Baby's antics, yearning for the pleasure and the mystery of such a sweet, simple life. Indeed, he could not recall experiencing such blissful ignorance. Virgil had taken a much different approach to rearing him than he did to Baby. Cleitus had been harvested still green from the earth, and although the cold beauty of a pouting and half-scrolled blossom was unparalleled, it had left him bitter and hard. But Cleitus did not blame his master for his downfalls. Indeed, in Cleitus' eyes the ivory king was without fault. Still, he couldn't help but envy the girlpup somewhat, for she clearly didn't realize how fortunate she was to be shaped and molded by tender, rather than harsh, hands.

"Mind your tone with me, Baby," Cleitus warned, though only halfheartedly, in response to her childish reproach. He tolerated her sharp young teeth in his toe for only a moment, then jerked away, swatting playfully at the wriggly body, trying to flip her over into a less bothersome position on her back. He rolled his eyes, chuckling under her breath, at her sudden onslaught of questions. Poor Dorian hadn't known what he'd been getting himself into with this girl. Cleitus only hoped that the man had more tact with whelps than Cleitus himself did. "Slow down, child, you'll drive the man mad," he interjected, somewhat awed by her insatiable curiosity, but he doubted she heard him because then she was running off through the sand again, bounding towards a figure approaching through the salty haze of ocean spray.

She had emerged from the hissing seafoam like a lady of the mists, clad in white silks and pearls, an ethereal maiden laden with white fires and orbs of the most mythic ocean blue. She drifted down Cthonia's golden shore like dreamsmoke, and for a fleeting instant Cleitus had mistaken her for his master, so fine and noble did she appear, but then her eyes flashed blue, not gold, and her perfume wafted through the briny scent of clean high tide. Hers was not the exotic musk of sun-blasted sands and myrrh; it was ash and flames and bitter blood, the smells of loss and longing, of a destitute sovereign fleeing the purging fires of vengeful gods. Cleitus' mind strayed at once to the tales of the mighty empire Ilium, razed to the ground, and all for the folly of a fabled princess. But this stranger was no tragic Helen, but rather a damned Persephone. A woman of forsaken tomorrows and endless winters, she was as terrible as she was beautiful.

Cleitus cocked a single brow in interest as she drew closer, the seaspray glittering like diamonds as it dripped from her star-studded pelt, and he could not help but notice her sheer size. He had never before laid eyes on a woman so massive, and yet still so fair. She was not the lithe, slithering wraith she had seemed from afar. Standing in her shadow, Cleitus became keenly aware that she could, if she so desired, cut him down with little effort. He was certain she had done such things before; she took the stance of a soldier, her muscles carefully honed, optics sharp. Cleitus' eyes narrowed to icy shards when at last she spoke. "The Lord of Cthonia finds himself otherwise occupied," he responded coolly, tossing his head as he did so, fur rippling in sleek black waves down the curve of his spine. He indulged in a private smirk as he envisioned Virgil's reaction to the title of lord, and then his heart ached when he imagined the sphinxlike smile that would accompany his rejection of such antiquated formalities. "I speak for my master in his absence. My name is Cleitus Mavrokardia. And to whom do I owe this pleasure?" His ears flicked backward in a brief revelation of his suspicion. She reeked of far-off lands and unknown peoples. Had she come here seeking a new home, or were there much darker motives in the tangled sinews of her maiden's heart?

The ebony youth was seized yet again by a gesture of blatant emotion when Dorian uttered but four simple syllables, ice-kissed eyes widening to shocked, wintery orbs. He knew the warrior had spoken only out of common courtesy, a swift ammend to Baby's thoughtless babble, but the words struck him regardless, and they left him confused and reeling. Polite or not, Dorian Gray had no cause to claim any sort of liking for him. In fact, from all he'd seen of Cleitus' foul temper and his relative distaste for strangers, Dorian Gray had every right to think him an egomaniacal wretch. Simply hearing the words, regardless of whether there was actual feeling behind them or if they were simply a politic pretense, was a kindness the likes of which Cleitus had never experienced before. The everyday kindness of a stranger . . . It lifted his sodden spirits and dragged his mind away from Virgil and the woman. To Cleitus, Fly would always be the woman. She had yet to earn her right to a name.

"As Dorian said, you are welcome to wait with us until my master handles his business. Unless, of course, your visit to Cthonia is terribly urgent, in which case I would be obliged to show you to him." Sensing that Avendesora was not likely to cause any trouble, outmanned as she was, Cleitus settled back down on compact haunches, raking blunt talons through the sand, breath easing gently in and out in time with the whispering tide. He thought for a moment, then spoke up again. "Whence do you hail, madam? I'm certain I've never caught your scent before." Cleitus had spent most of his life in travelling. If she came from a land he recognized, he was sure he could better deduce the manner of her visit, for there were well-known realms of purity and darkness alike and no matter how desperately a wolf tried to escape its homeland, that land never quite let go of the wolf. Cleitus himself was proof of that.

Is it bright where you are?

[Emmy]

Avendesora Mahdi Al Ellisande
There are those that remain behind ...

The business of life is to go forward; the wolf who sees evil in prospect meets it in their way, and the wolf who catches it by retrospection turns back to find it. That which is feared may sometimes be avoided, but that which is regretted today must be regretted again tomorrow. Wolves learn wisdom from their failures much more so then they do their successes; they discover what will do by finding out what will not do; and those who have never made a mistake in their lives have never made a discovery. A wolf must take all their burdens and troubles and losses and wrongs, if come they must, and they will, as opportunity, for such grief is only temporary, for wolves are destined for grander and greater things. Wolves live in suspense, from day to day, from hour to hour. They gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which they stop to look fear in the face. Then they are able to say: "I have lived through this horror. I can take the next thing that comes along."

The loss of the smooth taste of the word Queen has turned her cold; a false winter has curled up with an absent hunger lashing in her belly, and she wonders at it, the strange hunger, the cold, homeless season that has frozen her blood and her heart into stillness. Because now she is suddenly a coward, a survivor whose life was spared rather than won, a creature worth less than nothing. Faceless, nameless, a pale ghost of the glorious ruler she once was. Avendesora knows she should be dead. She should have been murdered by the treacherous fangs of her brother and his daughter, killed in the war that always promised to happen but never did, or burned alive in the fires that destroyed her home. She shouldn't be alive, but this is a feeling she remembers and understands, for she has suffered it before. It seems, to her, that everyone she has ever come to love, dies; her friends, her subjects, her sister, her lover, her children; but she has been left alive, and so very alone. And she mourns again, still, always, while she tries to remember the honorable side of grief.

Avendesora watches quietly as she is eagerly approached by the young dog, lips twitching against a smile as the she-pup begins to speak. It is not the first time she has seen the weaker cousin of the wolf; dogs were always welcome within Novus Vita, much to her brother's supreme irritation. She'd even taken in a young husky at one point, after she'd given birth to her first and only litter. It hadn't been for very long, and then one day the child simply wandered off, never to return. Avendesora might be a mother, but she has never deceived herself into thinking she is a good one. She has often been mother to children who are not of her blood. She has raised these cubs; wolves, dogs, coyotes, half-breeds; and unleashed them on the far reaches of the world, into lands beyond the lands she has known. Whether or not they survived once they left her sight, she does not know, and does not want to know.

"My thanks to you, little one," she says after the long-winded Baby has quieted.

The ivory fae absorbs the names Baby offers easily, but does not comment, as the child's attention has already drifted away to the lighter-coated brute, Dorian Gray. Avendesora dips her muzzle in greeting when he invites her into the conversation, but continues her silence. Beside he, she was able to discern three other names, Vergilius Patroklos, King of Cthonia, a woman named Fly, and the dark-hued Cleitus. So the pack was small, if the offered names belong to all the wolves within residence. But ...

"Perhaps you could offer me your name as well, little one, since you've already shared everyone else's."

Cerulean eyes slid towards the ebony youth as he finally addressed her and she took a moment to size him up. He was young, likely no older than her surviving son, Zakai, but there was a sturdiness to him, and a certain distant regard he seemed to hold for the wolves surrounding him. At the request for her name, she allows a brief moment of hesitation, running her tongue along the sharp edges of her teeth and narrowing her gaze.

"My name is Avendesora Mahdi A--," she bites off her words with a grimace and tries to mask her mistake quickly, "and Avendesora will do. Just Avendesora."

Avendesora believes she watched the Al Ellisande name burn away alongside her hopes and her dreams. The Wastelands are like a long-lost memory to her now; she no longer has any right to wear the royal title for she is royalty no more. She doesn't want to be known, doesn't want to be remembered, doesn't want to share her shame.

"My business here is not urgent. I have no need to be hastily met by your Lord," she says simply, and to ease his mind she continues, "I've come alone, with purpose other than to rest and, perhaps, stay a while. But that, I think, is not for you to decide and I can wait."

The ivory woman doesn't know whether she should feel insulted or amused when he casually sits; did she really appear so unassuming? With her desert blood and sleek, powerful beauty, wolves had always been wary of her, whether she meant to be a threat or not. But then, she was in a strange land, surrounded by strangers. Her smile is small, private, and nostalgic. She rolls her shoulders in a shrug and decides to recline as well, pulling well-muscled haunches beneath her as she settles herself beside the small gathering of canines. A breeze blew in from the beach, gently ruffling her fur and the sun leant a familiar welcome warmth to her back. Auds move to catch the ebony males next words.

Where did she come from? Avendesora finds herself fighting against a bitter smile and avoids meeting his gaze, looking over his shoulder instead. "From far away," she says, thinking of the hot sands of the Wastelands, "and then not so far," she added, thinking of the vast emerald forests of Fantasy. "But that does not directly answer your question, does it?" She laughs, a little, the sound like a melody trapped in ice. The muscles along her jaw twitch as she mulls over her answer. "A land called Fantasy, is from where I've come, and Novus Vita was once my home. But that," she shakes her head once, "that no longer matters now."

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

Note;; Ugh. Just so you know, this wasn't the original post I had written. That one got deleted, twice. And this one sucks. XD I'm so sorry that this took so long to get posted. As in ... crazy-long.

[Sighani]

[bg=ffffff][atrb=width,500,true][atrb=border,0,true] "My father says I am to be wed to the lady north of here, and I say to you, Aberkios, she is fair. And, fairer still, of wondrous virtue. Sometimes from her eyes I did receive messages unspoken, but ripe with passion. Her name is Dione Delos, daughter of the great Queen Euryanassa--indeed, a child of Hera herself--and the world is not ignorant of her beauty nor of her worth, for the four winds blow in from every corner of the earth renowned suitors, and across her elegant figure is spread a silken pelt like the mythic golden fleece. Her seat in her kingdom is therefore Colchis' strand, and many Jasons come in quest of her. Oh Aberkios, had I but the means to furnish a magnificent Argo of my own that I may gaze once more into her mystic eyes and therein discover the secrets of life and love." The ivory prince, celestial eyes cast heavenward, fell back into stalks of wheat that whispered teasing secrets to the wind so delicately brushing through the golden fields. The sky was bright that afternoon, an endless azure dream stretching out and melding seamlessly into the aqua mist of the sea's flat horizon. Vergilius Patroklos, not yet a king and only just a man, lounged in the warm solar rays beside his faithful servant and most valued confidante, breathing in the Aberkios' sweet scent, comparing his breathing to the swelling ocean tide. He was most at ease in the company of the eunuch, and it was in this most peaceful state of mind that Virgil often let his secrets slip. "It seems only fair that the gods should fashion so fair a princess after the beauty of her intended prince." Aberkios spoke just like he kissed. Soft, fleeting, trembling with suppressed desires. Virgil couldn't help but wonder why the king's men had not cut out Aberkios' tongue when they had stripped him of his manhood, as was generally the custom, but he was thankful for the oversight; it wasn't often that words, no matter how spectral and yearning, passed through those tender lips, and hearing that voice always left Virgil dizzy and reeling. A smile had stolen across Virgil's features when he turned his gaze to his servant, silent laughter blazing in the sunfire of his eyes. "He speaks," Virgil murmured, eyes roving shamelessly over the feminine curves of the eunuch's body, down the length of sleek, slender legs, into the black depths of half-lidded orbs. Sighing contentedly, Virgil shifted closer to Aberkios and rested his head against the other's shoulder. Dark fur tickled his nares and he smelled the distinct perfume of maidens intermingled with the musk of a natural-born man. Aberkios was never what Virgil wanted, but he was everything the youth needed. Both wolves could settle for less. "My master says that it's improper for you to say such things to me. He maintains that you should be discouraging this sort of behavior, rather than inspiring it. I am betrothed. I should leave the dalliances of my youth in the past and step into a fresh new life. I should spend more time with the princess. I should dismiss you from my service because you have acquainted me to more men than you have protected me from. Did you know he calls me whore?"

[/b]

"Then he is a jealous fool." The airy voice rumbled in the solid flesh beneath Virgil's head. He knew he should have reproached Aberkios for speaking so shamefully of his master, but his respect for the eunuch ran deeper than that, and he held free speech in high regard. He would not silence a man for speaking his mind. He never would. "He knows that when you are married, you will have no more time to spend with him. You will become king and he will be left alone. It's only natural that he should long for you to be more mindful of his love. But he is selfish and cruel to call you names. He should cherish the time you have left, not sully it with foul memories."

"Will you also lament at my marriage, Aberkios?"

"No, my lord. It was by the passion-driven arrow of Eros that I, a mere slave, had tasted the lips of a king before ever I even laid eyes on a cur, and for that I will be forever grateful. May Aphrodite breathe sweet love into your union, my lord, and may your arrow-stricken lovers find the courage to wish you the same."[/i]

The memory of that too-bright summer day flitted into the king's psyche at Fly's mention of an arranged marriage, but years of conditioning insured that the flesh did not betray the bitter turmoil within. Star-crossed and brief, that betrothal had ended not in blessed matrimony, but rather just as Virgil had predicted: in tears. A wicked bout of consumption had claimed Dione just as gray October rains draped a blazing cloak of autumn across the trees, and the budding romance between the fair princess and the heir to the Potroklian empire had withered into a tragedy as deep and calamitous as any ancient myth. Dione's kingdom fell into turmoil, her noble mother unable to contain a riotous band of rebels who feared for the future of their estate, their sole heiress having passed and thus leaving the crown of princess upon the scorned brow of Niobe, her illigitamte sister. No civilization so proud would accept a bastard queen. And thus had the bloody fangs of war slavered crimson conflict throughout the land, severing the brittle ties between two societies that had depended on the marriage as an harbinger of peace and unity. Only through forced militance had Phaedrus Patroklos, Virgil's father, prevented a grisly coup in the neighboring kingdom, and in a single stroke, the Patroklian empire had assimilated yet another civil war-ravaged territory into its far-flung reach. It had not been Phaedrus's first conquest, nor his last. But it had been the bloodiest of all. It was with great shame that the mighty Queen Euryanassa had sheathed her fangs and recalled her forces--while she retained her sovereign title, she was loathe to serve under a desert-born High Queen.

The ivory hessian sighed softly, the single sign of his innermost emotions lost amongst the whispers of the wind through the wheat. This iron-forged fatale had run from her forced marriage, while Virgil wished only that his could have come sooner so that he would have had the chance to love that shining maiden before her untimely passing. Such an arrangement was quite typical among his people, often a symbol of status and pure breeding, and while true love may not have blossomed in the earliest stages of courting, it was generally preceeded by the utmost respect and understanding. Wolves not blinded by youthful lust could come to accept one another, reveal their true identities and speak with clear minds. Although the two had been smitten with one another from the start, Virgil had looked forward to falling in love with his chosen queen. And in his dark despair, he had been blinded by the radiance of the condemned heiress Niobe and leapt at the opportunity to marry not for peace and politics, but for his own heart. Niobe was a dark beauty who had sprung forth from the loins of a deed most foul--the rape of Queen Euryanassa--and she had been rejected all her life. Virgil had saught to repair her shattered life, but he had not realized that a woman so broken could not be healed by the power of love alone. Their elopement had resulted in disgrace.

And where was Virgil now, as a consequence for his rash actions? King of a few meager stragglers, lost heir to a sprawling empire. He was too demeaned by his affair to look into the eyes of his father and yet too proud to admit to himself that he had made a mistake. His master had tried to instill in him a sense of humility, but a humble king was a meek king, and it was his duty to be strong for those who needed him. Wolves like Cleitus. Wolves like Fly. He fixed the fatale with a cool stare, the gold of his orbs roiling in molten waves. He was so much more than what he had become. But perhaps this was his chance to prove that altruism could come before airs. He had promised to be a shepherd. Disdainful as his current flock seemed to be, he would safeguard them nonetheless. It was his sole lot in life; it was what he had been born and bred to do. There was nothing else for him.

The fae's story had been most enlightening, and Virgil had been pleased to discover that he had been correct in many of his assumptions about Fly, and even more delighted to finally know the truth behind the facts that had eluded his prying mind. But it was a bittersweet feeling, counteracted by the sheer gravity of her history and the struggles she had fought all her life to overcome. The High King knew nothing of sexism within a pack and believed that those that practiced it were little more than tribes of uneducated savages. His predecessors had long regarded females as their equals--Virgil's grandmother, in fact, had been the last true desert pharaoh and had more love and devotion to her name alone than any king could boast. He could only shake his head dismally while she related the story to him. "You needn't worry, Fly," he said softly, "your being a woman will never put you at a disadvantage in Cthonia. Ever. Just as I expect my loving a man will not make me less of a king in your eyes."

He inclined his crown slightly at that last comment, celestial spheres narrowing, the king not quite knowing what reaction to expect from Fly. He was not one for abstruse confessions and was frequently very candid on the off-chance he chose to express his feelings. Normally he was quite Delphian, hiding his emotions from the world, but if he deemed a matter important enough to bring to public light, he would not anounce it with ambiguous words. His harsh gaze softened for a moment as he considered his heart, sapphire eyes and midnight tresses ghosting through his mind's eye, and he smiled when his stare drifted toward an eagle in the sky. He had always regarded them as the wisest of all birds, messengers of heaven, the gods themselves peering out from those glittering eyes. They were guides through this life and the next. He viewed their presence as a good omen.

"I hope that, with time, you can also treat me as an equal and a friend. I do not believe in monarchies as you know them, although I anounce myself as a king. In actuality, it's simply a title I can't seem to shake. I was born into it, and you know what they say about old habits, madam. I don't expect subservience and I don't expect worship. I am not the tyrant so many seem to mistake me for at first glance." His smile broadened in the slightest as he recalled the first impression he had offered Fly and Dorian. He had seemed haughty, he knew, and likely a conniving dictator beneath his veil of welcoming smiles and pretty words. He couldn't blame them for their initial apprehension and suspicion; democracy was not a thing to which most varg were accustomed. But they would get used to it in time, or so he hoped. "If there is anything I value most in wolves, it is our ability to adapt to any situation. You say you wish to serve me, and I say I wish only to be your guide. A leader doesn't always have to be a dictator. Maybe someday soon we can reach a middle ground." He smiled again, just for Fly. He felt he didn't need to give her any formal acceptance into his pack. He had enough faith in her deductive reasoning that she could at least understand from that last statement that she was welcome to stay in Cthonia for as long as she chose. "Before we return to the mob," he continued in light jest, tossing his alabaster crown, "is there anything more you wish to discuss? I am just as willing to answer questions as I am to listen. You have my complete confidence, I assure you." [/color]


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count xx 2088 words.
tunes xx "Amber" - 311.
comments xx Holy shit, sorry for the mammoth post! And sorry it took so long.[/size]

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[Asphyxia]

[bg=d5949e][atrb=width,520,true][atrb=border,0,true] Baby immediately snapped her sweet chocolate gaze to Dorian Gray, who, as she had little expected, confirmed that he did in fact like Cleitus and did want to be her friend. Acoustics tugged forward upon her skull, her crown tipping slightly to the side as she observed him for a moment. “Ooohhh! We must as soon as we have everyone introduced! I love stories!” Excited at the ideas that had suddenly dawned on her, she quickly pranced her paws toward Dorian and brushed her shoulder against his paw in an affectionate thank you, mug grinning as widely as possible. Plume wagged, still, furiously behind her frame. A tail that rarely stopped. However, as she was scolded by Cleitus, she dropped her head, ears pulling back along her crown. “I’m sorry, Cleitus.. And I’m sorry for driving you mad, Dorian Gray!” Baby was only slightly surprised that she’d forgotten her own name to the lady and was quick to offer it up. “I’m Baby! It’s not a real name, but I don’t have a real name!” As Cleitus, however, took over the conversation of important matters, Baby quickly lost interest. She was very interested in meeting others and making new friends, but at her age, politics meant little to the pup. Spheres snapped about the area, both in the direction Virgil had left and back toward the waters. She debated running over to Virgil, and then debated the waters. And at the moment, the water seemed far more fun. Giggling, she bounded toward the shorelines, her pads splashing up the tide as it rolled in on the beach and out again. As the tide rolled back, her jaws snapped, a high-pitched yapping leaving her mighty little mug as she barked at the water. She scrambled backward as the tide rose toward her, then ran after it as it swayed back into the ocean. Although the game was fun, it soon lost her interest, just as most things did very quickly and she ran a good few inches into the water so that when the tide rose along the beach, her belly got soaked by the salty waters. She had spotted a very interesting looking stick in the water. Perhaps a root, as it was half buried in the sand and she wanted it. Wormholes stretched all across the small branch, the branch twisted and knotted. Her short right foreleg stretched down into the water, toes spreading as she attempted to pull at the branch and dig it from the water. Her attempts to grasp it failed and all she managed to do was make the water murky so that she could not see it. The pad continued to scrape, attempting to pull any sand away from it so that she might dig it from the waters, but to no avail. Frustrated, the pup reclined her haunches so that water sprayed up around her small chassis, brow furrowing furiously. As the sand disappeared and the she was able to spot the stick once more, her lips pulled back as she let out a small growl and let out a quick bark at it. Lifting her haunches, she eased herself backward and lowered her front half into a play bow, managing to get water splashing against her face as the tide came forward once more. As the tide reclined, she took her chances and launched herself off her back legs, forward, face-first into the water. Her teeth snapped around the branch and despite the water pouring into her nostrils and sliding down her throat, she bit down hard and pulled and tugged as hard as she could. Growling, she continued to rip at it, pulling at it until finally, the branch was released from the water. It was easily twice her size, but light enough for her to carry. As the branch released itself from the sandy ocean bed, she was shot back from the force of her pull, toppling backward and landing upon her spine in the sandy water. Grinning, the silly child scrambled back to her pads and looked off in the direction of the other three again. Deciding she missed Virgil, it was time for her to head over and see him. Holding her stick as tightly as possible in her small jaws, she carried the awkwardly long stick in the direction of the fields, sneaking off to see him and the woman he was with. Ears pulled upward on her skull, her left ear flopping as she bolted in the direction of Virgil, awkwardly, of course. She stumbled the entire time, falling a few times as she tried to reach him. She slowed, immediately a good distance from them and sat down, her spheres narrowing upon Fly as her brow furrowed. Gazing toward the two communicating, she debated silently whether or not to approach them. Slowly, she crouched low to the ground and eased towards them. When Fly stopped speaking, she immediately cleared her throat in attempt to drag attention toward herself so she wouldn’t interrupt. “Uhm… Uhm, Virgil…? There’s a new lady here that wants to see you. She doesn’t think… That Cleitus has a right to decide whether or not she can stay… I’m sorry for… inter-interrupting..” In speaking, she had dropped her stick, but as soon as she silenced herself, she picked it up as quick as possible and scuttled backward from the two, prepared to be scolded for interrupting when he had clearly wanted to speak to Fly alone. wordcount;; nine hundred, fourteen. lyrics;; loosen up - golden

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[Asphyxia]

[bg=000000][atrb=width,530,true][atrb=border,0,true] “You, woman, are a whore. You’re nothing but some attention-seeking, power-tripping little slut, seeking to steal my King for yourself. What the hell difference would it make if I lay with him or even beg at his paws? He respects you, far more than he does me.” The Queen paused in her lyrics, a growl rumbling in her chest as she stared hard at Freiya, the woman she so despised and was jealous of. “You fail to respect any others but your father and my King. You fail to see that I am your superior, whether you like it or not. You, little bitch, fail to see that I am the one betrothed to the King and I am the one he loves. You fail to see that you will NEVER amount to anything more than his little servant.” Her cold smile turned toward Freiya’s hardened expression. It took a lot for Freiya not to attack the woman and put her in her place. Instead, she stood her ground. “And you, my Queen, fail to see that I do not want your King. I do not want a man. Because unlike you, I do not need a man to live my life with. I am independent and I care little for how you feel about me. So continue to attempt to insult me, Queen, because it only looks immature, irrational and very unlady-like on your part.” “I will have your head faster than you can-” Her words were cut short, jaws snapped shut by the sudden barking voice of her husband, demanding attention. “What the hell is going on here?” Immediately, the Queen’s face turned shameful and the waterworks turned on, her spheres watering up like raindrops welling in the clouds. “I’m sorry my King! I am sorry, my sweet! This… wench… Had provoked my anger and jealousy and I am ashamed to admit that I lost my temper..” Freiya’s spheres narrowed upon her pathetic form which practically crumbled to the ground in dramatic display of emotion and shame. What dignity did this female have left, if she so fell to her belly at the mere sound of her mate’s voice? “Silence. Freiya, return to your den, I will speak with you later. My love, hush yourself. You look nothing like a Queen withered upon the ground like a dying blossom.” Freiya, smirking, turned tail and leapt into a lazy lope across the forest toward her dens, no longer hearing a word her King spoke to his Queen. As she neared her den, she spotted Casey sitting, probably waiting for her. “Father’s been looking for you.” His dark mug dipped toward her, acoustics pulling forward on his skull. Her nares twitched to take in the scent of the wolves that had already been at her den in search of her and she warily met her brothers gaze. “The Queen needed my attention.” Casey snorted, his sister smirking back at him in response. “What did that creature want with you? Everyone knows she has it out for you.” Cocking her crown at her brother, plume swaying behind her frame, she rolled her shoulders in a gentle shrug. “To threaten me that she will someday have my head and throw goodness only knows what insults my way.” Casey’s spheres shifted beyond her shoulder, making her glance over her shoulder to spot the King heading toward them. Her mouth closed, spheres narrowing slightly as she heard Casey pad away. “My King…” Fly’s acoustics flattened against her skull, nostrils flaring slightly. Her pads halted as Virgil fixed his golden hues upon her and she paused in her strides to lock her gaze with his. He was a man she could easily respect. A man who respected all, no matter their past, rank or gender. Auds tipped toward him as she watched him in silence, hoping he would say something soon, for she could feel his gaze not looking at her, but rather, through her. An unsettling feeling blanketed her. His head shook and she continued to watch him in silence. What had she left to say? He was the only one who knew of her history in the years she had escaped it by the hairs on her plume. Still, she wondered what ever had come of her family… Were they okay? Were they alive, healthy and happy? In her mind, she was cursing herself. Cursing herself for never bothering to check back with them. “Doesn’t change the way I look at you at all.” Shifting her weight, her crown inclined slightly. She had seen hints. At least on Cleitus’s part, but she was almost certain she was the only one who actually truly knew by their verification. But if that was the case, she refused to say anything to anyone else. It was not hers to tell. Not that she spoke to anyone anyway. It made her think briefly on her arranged betrothal to Courajess. Could she have come to love him? Could they have put differences aside and grown to at least care for one another? Her spheres followed Virgil’s to the skies, catching sight of the eagle. She sighed beneath her breath, thoughtful. Would she ever find someone she could relax with and just be herself? Just… be? A chuckle left her slightly parted kissers at his next words, crown dropping to let her gaze fall upon the King once more. “I assure you, you appeared far less the tyrant than you so believe you appear.” Pausing in her words, she shifted her weight and slowly reclined her haunches. “And as you cannot seem to shake your title, I cannot seem to shake the fact that I am a soldier.” She went silent again, thinking on her own ranking she had once held. She had been a good soldier. Had always gotten the job done, no matter what was asked of her. Being a soldier had come easily to her. Being trained from birth to be second-hand to the King and a soldier, she had learned quickly of the secrets to survival and to fighting. As Vergilius smiled, Fly silenced her thoughts, curious as to what he was thinking. As he spoke of being a guide, she blinked, confused. A guide on what? Guide her through her life? She wasn’t sure she liked the idea of it. “A guide? A guide to what, might I ask, Vergilius Patroklos? I‘m afraid I am not familiar with having a guide, but rather, trainers and masters.” Part of her wanted to ask him of how he remained so relaxed, all the time. But she bit her tongue. Particularly when the young pup came wandering over. Dropping her gaze to the puppy, she shook her crown in response to Virgil asking her of any questions. A new lady? Fly gave a light smile as the pup glanced at her, grabbed her stick as quickly as she finished her speech and scrambled away. Was the pup fearful of Fly? Perhaps wary? She knew the pup liked Cleitus and therefore, did not like the attitude that Fly held towards him. “I think, Sire, that I shall go find something to drink that isn’t nearly so salty.. If you have no current need of me? The ‘new lady’ seems a little impatient for the direct audience of the King himself.” Giving a light-hearted attempt at a smile, Fly dipped her mug in a small bow to the King. Slowly, her pads began to carry her away, in the opposite direction of the ocean and the group of gathered wolves. Although he had not directly stated it, Fly knew she had been accepted. As her pads carried her toward a steep slope of land covered in trees, she slowly let her muscles relax upon her chassis. She had been tense the entire time she’d been around the other wolves. Now, now that she was accepted, perhaps she could find somewhere to relax and rest for a while. She was curving the lands towards the forests. A blanket of darkness covered a portion of the fields. A herd of yak, large, meaty beasts with large horns. The herd was large and seemed to move in unison. Pausing, she gazed upon them momentarily. But it was not here she wished to be and she felt no hunger. Instead, she felt happier to travel through the brush and trees and find a small stream. Plume swung slowly behind her frame, acoustics tall on her skull, nostrils flared, scenting at the air as she loped through forest. A stream of water was easily found, and although it proved small, it stretched down from the mountains. Fresh water. A smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she headed for the shallow stream and dropped her chassis low to the ground. Crouching before the clear liquid, she dropped her tongue to it, pulling it back between her lips to feel its coolness slide down her throat and quench her thirst. Plume tucked gently against her side as she drank her fill, then slowly lifted her crown to scan the area. Talons dug into the soft soil beneath her pads, spheres flashing. Rustling sounded close by. Across the stream? Tucking herself lower against the ground, Fly stared in the direction of the noise, acoustics pulled forward on her skull to listen for more noises, spheres searching for it. A shadow shifted behind some trees. Her immediate thought was another wolf. But the black and brown creature was far too large. A bear. The bear had yet to spot her and if she was silent and didn’t move, she might not startle it into a blind attack of fear or rage. Her breath caught in her chest as she stared at the blundering creature. It was coming to the stream. As it circled around the trees, it spotted her immediately and halted in its strides. It seemed neither could think of how to react at the moment. Both had been startled and both were unsure of whether to run or attack. The bear grumbled in her direction and upon instinct, her lips pulled back, unsheathing her canines. Hackles rose up along her spine, snout wrinkled in her display of warning. Shifting her weight back on her hind legs, she watched the bear, keeping track of any possible move to attack. The bear made no move, although its jaws parted and it gave out a soft roar at her. It was a younger bear, clearly less experienced with wolves. A lot of black bears would easily blindly attack, whether to protect itself or to chase the wolf from its territory. But this bear didn’t seem to have claimed any home yet and didn’t appear to have a den around either. Deciding it was more annoyance than threat, Fly launched herself forward, splashing across the stream at the bear. Startled, the bear scrambled backward, standing upon his hind legs as he attempted to spin and run. Turning, he bolted in the opposite direction as Fly’s jaws snapped at his flank. But even as the bear made his way away from her, she halted and gave an irritable grunt in its direction. Damn bears. Disturbing her relaxation, too. Grumbling beneath her breath, Fly slowly made her way back to the stream and laid against the trunk of a large tree. Acoustics tipped backward, then shifted forward again on her skull, her gaze scanning the area once more as she once again, attempted to relax enough to doze off or perhaps get a bit of rest in. wordcount;; one thousand, nine hundred, twenty-eight lyrics;; background noise

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[obnoxiousturkey]

[bg=black][atrb=width,500,true][atrb=border,0,true] There was no other sound quite like it. The sudden thud of a body and the humans travel den colliding. The shattering of a windshield, the deafening screech of tires as all control was lost in the madness. Her brain rattled in her skull, the world seemed to spin and soar and touch down to the ground on an angle that should have never been real. The plastic crate that held her prisoner served as a shield from most of the thrashing... Amber eyes darted about wildly, disoriented and fearfully confused. That last tip was all the crate could take, corners finally popping open to grant freedom to the young dog inside. And all was still, suddenly, save for the tires that spun and creaked searching for ground but finding none. Those wild and frightened eyes peeked out into the dark world, frozen as if petrified by some horrible sorcery. Breath fogged infront of her, and it seemed as though hours passed before the calming pitter patter of rain fell upon the steel contraption. The dog had finally stepped out, gingerly placing each paw upon the wreckage to navigate her way to safe, real ground. She had once felt so safe with the humans. Had been taught all her life to love and respect them, to follow them wherever they might go and take their orders willingly. Cara did not feel so safe anymore. This human that she now eyed was leaning, hunched awkwardly over the steering wheel, hands hanging limply at his sides. A red liquid oozed from his head, droplets falling like the rain from his fingertips. She recognised the liquid by its scent. This human could no longer protect her, or lead her. Without thinking, Cara began to run. Dazed, terrified, fleeing the horrible scene. She didn't know where she was going, just that she was running away. She ran until her heart begged her to stop, until her muscles screamed and began to resist. The dog collapsed, ragged breaths fogging the air as she slept. When she had finally opened her eyes, Cara had not a clue where she was. A great forest, with no sign nor scent of the farm she'd been raised on anywhere nearby. Lost. Or perhaps not, perhaps she had run on instinct. The wolfs blood within her veins was little, and yet she could not help taking that opportunity for freedom from the human world. She had escaped without thinking, something deep within herself had driven her here so far from home... She wandered, for days and then weeks. No more food from a bowl brought to her each night. Luckily, she had been trained to hunt and stalk. Yet the dog had never been allowed to tear into her prey, only retrieve it with a soft mouth. Now Cara found herself pouncing upon mice, stalking birds and doing her best to try and catch them. It seemed hopeless. The occasional mouse was no meal. Day by day her ribs began to reveal themselves, her stomach pined and ached constantly. Only a few times did the fae stumble upon an old carcass.. She was dying of starvation now. A nose trained to find scent led her to the grounds she now walked. She smelt some sort of canine scent here, within the forest. It was unlike her family scent, or any dog she had ever come across in her short lifetime. Yet she trudged on, hoping to find those of her own kind. To find anyone at all really, for the fear of being alone bit deep. Soon, amber spheres set upon the form of a creature strong and massive in her eyes. She froze. The femme was curled beneath a tree, perhaps sleeping or simply resting. Cara became fixated on the creature, moving forward slowly and gaining momentum as she went. Soon she was taking oddly placed steps, her entire body wiggly to the rythm her wagging tassel set. Head lowered submissively, tongue lashing out to lick at the air in her overwhelming excitment. She couldn't speak, rump tucking under and plume still thumping a hundred times a minute. She approached quickly, perhaps rudely, over-excited and fearfull but unable to hold herself back. Finally! This was a canine, she was sure of it. Soft mouth finally opened for speach. "H-h-h-hello!" She stuttered, eyes beaming as she got so low to the ground she was practically crawling. Her position couldn't have been more submissive if she'd tried. Words were hard to find, amoung all the wiggling and wagging and shivering of excitment.

[/size][/blockquote]ooc: hmm.. she turned out a bit strange. hahah. Have fun Fly XD
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[Asphyxia]

[bg=000000][atrb=width,530,true][atrb=border,0,true] A wide yawn stretched apart the females jaws, flashing large canines in the shade of the tree trunk. Her plume gave a slight shake before lowering back to the ground, wrapped about her hind legs as she stretched out her forelegs. Gathering them back under herself, she gave a slight shake of her crown, auds pressing back against her skull as she closed her spheres to rest for a moments peace. New home, new wolves, new lands… New beginning… Sighing, she lowered her mug to the ground between her forepads, nostrils flaring as she snuffed her sigh out her nasal passages. “Freiya, what ever will I do with you…?” The King sighed softly as he slowly closed the terrain between them, tilting his crown in her direction. She rolled her shoulders back, lifting her skull as she locked her gaze with his. What was she to say? “My Queen… Believes me to be having an affair with you.” Little shocked Fly at this point, but now, as she heard the words come out of his mouth, her lips curled and her plume rose behind her frame. Hackles daggered upward at the mere idea of it. “Aye… And what a problem to behold, that may be. That would be adultery. That would be… Scandal. And above all else, it would hurt your families name, as well as mine.” A muscle flexed in Fly’s jaw as she clenched her teeth together as hard as possible. She couldn’t defend herself and deny the claim, for her King was not accusing her and he knew the truth as well as she did. “I’ll be discussing what to do with your father… Be patient with me, Freiya. I’ll figure this out.” Spheres snapped open as she recalled the memory, quickly grabbing it and burying it deep down once more. But a new sound caught her attention. A wiggly creature was moving toward her at a steady pace and she scrambled to her pads. The pup was wiggling her body with the force of her small tail. The lowered head, wiggly body and overall appearance and posture told Fly immediately that it was but a puppy that had approached her. Not too young, but young enough and clearly… At least in Fly’s mind, what seemed to have been a pet. This dog had come over quite enthusiastically and clearly didn’t know much beyond dog interaction, for the way she had approached, if it had been anybody else, could have easily gotten her killed. Frowning, Fly tilted her crown and decided on how to take it. She’d taken in a dog pup before, but how was he? Where had Dalek gone anyway? Was he even still alive? “Fly… I’m going with her.. We’re going to find our own pack now..” Fly refused to get emotional and she refused to let her heart feel the pain of having to let go of the only one she had cared for in many years. “You just don’t be stupid, y’hear?” Her pad slapped down gently on his bulky skull. She had to reach up to do it, but managed it all the same. It was easier when he was still little. “Come with us…?” His pleading puppy-dog eyes and his crooked grin were coaxing her to go with them, but she wasn’t ready, not yet… Not yet. Frowning, she glanced toward his female friend and back to him. Spheres softened as her brow furrowed. “Not this time, kiddo. I ain’t ready to join any pack yet and be bossed around by some Alpha. I’ve been alone this long for a reason, brat. I’m comfortable that way.” His crooked grin quickly turned into a pouting frown, his tassel no longer wagging behind his burly frame. “You go ahead and keep telling yourself that, Fly. But one of these days… You’re going to have to trust somebody and depend on someone… Or you’ll collapse.” Shaking her crown at him, she let a smirk cross her mug. “Now who in heck says I’m senile yet? Now git, before I chase you off myself.” Dalek smiled back at her and she could almost swear she saw the tears welling up in the boys eyes. “Don’t you cry on me, now. I mean it. Git lost.” She took an awkward step back from him as he slammed his shoulder against hers in a hug, his nape brushing against hers as he gave her a lick on the brow. “I’ll miss you..” She finally leaned into his goodbye hug. She was bad at these things, but she tried. She truly did. It was the best she could do right now. The best she could show her affection for him. As he was walking away with the other female, Fly watched them, stared off after the adult male she had once cared for. He’d been a tiny ball of fluff when she’d found him, soaking in the rain, abandoned and crying without a mother. And now he was grown up, walking off with a female he intended to make his mate, on his way to a home of his own. And she felt her heart wrench. Her words were whispered and she knew they couldn’t hear her… “I’ll miss you too, kid.” But she knew he could feel it. “Hey there, Pet. What are you doing out here in the forest on your own?” Her legs had gathered under her fairly quickly when she’d been startled by the excited pup. And now, she stood awkwardly still, her right forepaw lifting as she cocked her crown in the direction of the pup. “You seem lost. You hungry?” Brow furrowed slightly. Was she to find another pup to look after? Was this the God’s ways of telling her that she wasn’t allowed to be as alone as she wanted? Was this their way of saying that it was time for her to get on with having friends and a family? Or was it his way of punishing her, by bringing back memories of an overly excited, happy Dalek back when he’d been so young? “The name’s Fly. What’s yours, kid?” Finally, she relaxed, showing the pup that she hadn’t done wrong in approaching her. Her muscles relaxed as she sent a small smile in the puppies direction. Now they would have two pups in Cthonia. Hopefully this one didn’t take to her in the same fashion as the first. “I’ll make you a deal, I’ll grab you a meal for the grumbling stomach of yours and you can tell me all about how you got here and where your family is.” The puppy definitely looked hungry. And the stream was full of fish. Perfect for a puppy. wordcount;; one thousand, one hundred, nineteen. lyrics;; bring me down - miranda lambert

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