[Gabe] Dont put your blame on me
08-14-2017, 04:05 PM
Columns of sinew and bone lifted and fell lightly upon the terra. This land was strange, filled to the brim with heathen wolves. None knew of the Lord and his glory. The behemoth roamed, seeking his siblings out. They had dispersed to find a base of operations in this new locale, and that was the last he had heard of them. The golden herald was getting worried. Sea foam optics stared out blankly, uniform colour eerily reflecting the surrounding landscape. Tall audits flickered to and fro constantly, listening for an approach. He was not the strongest of wolves, and relied on his brothers to protect him far too often for his liking. The elder males would be fine, but the saint worried for his younger siblings. They were big and strong now, but that couldn't stop him. Sensitive whiskers brushed against the bark of a tree, too close to his body, and he adjusted his path. It would be time to rest soon, the cooling air signalled the setting of the sun. His aching paws needed a break, as well. A soft sigh would leave him. The scent of carrion beckoned, pulled him forth. It wasn't like he could hunt very well in this unknown land. The ground disappeared. Beneath his feet was nothing. A startled yelp, and he stumbled down. The steep incline claimed him, pulled him into the depths. Sharp talons scrabbled at the hard packed earth, catching on nothing but loose pebbles. Steel cords fought against gravity, muscular thighs straining to keep him above ground. "Michael! Raphael!" He barked, praying the males were somewhere nearby. There was no response, and he was still slipping. A dip in the path under his forepaws, and it was all over. Grip lost, the herald tumbled into the unknown. Skidding down the slope, sharp things cut into his flanks and belly. The ride ended abruptly, and painfully. He collided with the ground below, lengthy limbs slapping against the softness of grass. The breath within his lungs had been stolen, and he gasped frantically. The cool, dank air flooded his chest. Everything felt closed off. Sound was dampened, like there was something above and around. This was a cavern. He wasn't dead. Scents of moss and peat, the sharp aroma he associated with stone. A wolf was within this space as well, somewhere. It was a familiar scent. His head throbbed from the fall, he couldn't identify it. Slowly, he gathered his limbs beneath himself. A groan rumbled in his chest, and he pushed himself up. Quivering muscles pulled and pushed, drawing him away from the incline. A wordless bark erupted from his jaws. The sound bounced back to him, echoed. There was no way out from here. Irritation began to bloom within his chest. "Gabriel, you fool." He cursed himself, and slowly turned until he could feel pebbles and dirt under his pads. This was the way up. The scent lingered within his nostrils. Samael. Urgency was suddenly the name of the game. His fallen brother was here. Why? Father, give me strength. He prayed silently. He couldn't face his brother now, the wound was only beginning to scab over in his heart. With great effort, he began to climb the steep trail. Did it wind? He didn't recall it winding. Being careful and being quick were, generally, mutually exclusive. He needed to get out fast, or risk encountering the one wolf he didn't want to.
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