Post by Neige on Aug 24, 2005 11:29:10 GMT -5
Perhaps it is those that are not, that want to be most of all. Life wants to live, but death wants to live more then anything else. Ghosts often hurt those that breathe, those that have a heart beat, and those who move embodied in living flesh… in their search to return. It is such an odd idea, that those who do not have something, would hunger for it above those who have it, but it is the truth none the less. Neige’s paws barely left a imprint in the grass as she approached a place that stank of fear and of madness. She was drawn to it like a moth to a flame, drawn by her own signature, her own aura put into the stone of caverns.
Her ears flicked forward, listening intently to the sounds that echoed from it. The caves sounded to be alive, but she knew better then to believe such a ridiculous thing. Without anything said, no cue given, the wolf’s claws clicked on stone. Its steady rapping resounded around her a million times over. The sound of her own lungs slow exhalations sounded ragged as it bounced off the cold stone. A world of death, and she could tell that the more steps she took, the farther into the abyss of her own mind she walked.
Perfect.
Maybe it would see odd to any other canine why she would so strangely just waltz straight in without a second thought, that she would ignore all the fear and suspicion. The wolf soon found herself deep within the chasms, and all was black as hell, and nothing seemed to move. It was a pleasant feeling, and Neige felt safe. Is that not what a home does? Makes one feel safe? The black walls seemed to whisper in her ear of how many people in her position would have died. Next to it, a pleasant lassitude that she was all to eager to indulge in.
Leaning back on her haunches, and spreading out her forelimbs, she rested her head upon her own fur. Grey orbs darting about with a precision that was startling. Her gaze was piercing, and it caught everything. From the sharp calcites handing from the ceiling of the cave, to the firm face of the stone walls.
Drip, drip.
Drip, drip.
The steady rhythm and the breathing of the cave was a wonderful lullaby to the wolf. Having gone unrecognized for so long, she reveled in the contrast of her white furs glisten, to the dull black of the darkness. She almost glowed with the heaviness of the comparison, and finally, her orbs closed as her tale rapped around the side of her body.
Home.
She spoke it softly, already half asleep. In the pit of her stomach, the faint ache of hunger was there… but with no pack, the wolf had learned how to sleep as if on a full stomach, when it was really as full as a homeless man’s wallet. The canine had never felt safe, really, and this was new and a unsurprisingly welcome emotion. When she was younger, she had always feared the wrath of her parents, as they were not the nicest of wolves. Her mother more then any other wolf she had yet to come across. When she had been with her sister, the constant fear of hunger and predators had almost drove her mad. Afterwards, it had only gotten worse. Now, she finally felt she could rest.
Her ears flicked forward, listening intently to the sounds that echoed from it. The caves sounded to be alive, but she knew better then to believe such a ridiculous thing. Without anything said, no cue given, the wolf’s claws clicked on stone. Its steady rapping resounded around her a million times over. The sound of her own lungs slow exhalations sounded ragged as it bounced off the cold stone. A world of death, and she could tell that the more steps she took, the farther into the abyss of her own mind she walked.
Perfect.
Maybe it would see odd to any other canine why she would so strangely just waltz straight in without a second thought, that she would ignore all the fear and suspicion. The wolf soon found herself deep within the chasms, and all was black as hell, and nothing seemed to move. It was a pleasant feeling, and Neige felt safe. Is that not what a home does? Makes one feel safe? The black walls seemed to whisper in her ear of how many people in her position would have died. Next to it, a pleasant lassitude that she was all to eager to indulge in.
Leaning back on her haunches, and spreading out her forelimbs, she rested her head upon her own fur. Grey orbs darting about with a precision that was startling. Her gaze was piercing, and it caught everything. From the sharp calcites handing from the ceiling of the cave, to the firm face of the stone walls.
Drip, drip.
Drip, drip.
The steady rhythm and the breathing of the cave was a wonderful lullaby to the wolf. Having gone unrecognized for so long, she reveled in the contrast of her white furs glisten, to the dull black of the darkness. She almost glowed with the heaviness of the comparison, and finally, her orbs closed as her tale rapped around the side of her body.
Home.
She spoke it softly, already half asleep. In the pit of her stomach, the faint ache of hunger was there… but with no pack, the wolf had learned how to sleep as if on a full stomach, when it was really as full as a homeless man’s wallet. The canine had never felt safe, really, and this was new and a unsurprisingly welcome emotion. When she was younger, she had always feared the wrath of her parents, as they were not the nicest of wolves. Her mother more then any other wolf she had yet to come across. When she had been with her sister, the constant fear of hunger and predators had almost drove her mad. Afterwards, it had only gotten worse. Now, she finally felt she could rest.