TRASHED AND SCATTERED [M]
07-04-2013, 01:40 PM
Masqurading as a man with a reason My charade is the Event of the season I hear the voices when I'm dreaming I can hear them say: ~*~ The midnight was a cloak; shadows blending together and hiding the massive form of the grey-black creature that stalked the night, his head in a vicious whirlwind. The she-wolf had been talented, certainly, but she had beaten the male by pure luck alone. Her ivories had snagged an artery on the inside of his left foreleg, in the beginning of the fight, and by the end, when her skull was in his jaws and triumph within his reach, that bloodloss had caught out to him. It seemed as though all feeling, all thought, all life had drained away in one numb moment. And she had had the gaul to growl and howl over him as though she were some frightening titan. She was a child! But the very statement which his mind snapped as an insult bit into his own soul as well. What excuse did he have then for being so careless? None. None but the fickle whims of fate. Thoughts of recenge and rechallenge were naturally there at first ? well, after he?d stopped bleeding out and started to recover his mind. But he?d learned since then that the girl and her chosen helpmate, (both the spawn of Cairo, no less) were content to take the title of the pack, and whatever lack-loyal canines chose them and then lay claim to some other place. Gargoyle was left wondering what the point had been. The damage to his pack, then was minimal, the damage to his body had been serious but was improving with every passing hour?. The real damage then? His mind. In fight Eos, the brute known as Gargoyle had opened up a part of himself that he had never wanted to look at again. He?d swung through doors that should never have been unlocked. And now that it was over, he was left to wrestle with the monsters he?d let out. Left to remember how delicious her meat had been in his mouth. How exillerating had been the thrill of adrenaline. How satisfying her high pitched growls when he?d dug into her back, snapping for her spine. The male let out a throaty sigh turned growl, and lowered his bulk to dip into the river. Crouching there on the stony banks he lapped at the snowmelt that rippled in the darkness. The night reflected his mind quite well; so many shades of grey. Perhaps he should?ve staid back with Ocena, she was after all, the one who could reach him even when he?d gone too far. But when his mind was under such impressions, he preferred to take himself away. If his fury had to be spent, better it was on some prey animal who?s remains would never be seen by his pack. He hadn?t had to kill like this since before the pups. When he?d become a father, he?d changed, gentled, and he?d just begun to think that he could stay like that forever. But no. The struggle was back. Perhaps to stay. The bear-sized beast felt the heat rising within him. His yellow eyes, usually so bland and lizard-like, began to glow like lamps. One would?ve thought steam would rise when his paws touched the freezing cold tides of the river. But Gargoyle drew himself back and carried on along the river side, until the banks became steep, climbing and rising until they formed a ridge of bluffs and cliffs. The endless roar of the waterfall could be heard now, lending a baseline to all other muted sounds of nighttime nature. Gargoyle felt drawn to it. He wanted to stand upon the precipice and watch the world turn. Yet he had not gone half a dozen steps before the scent of another wolf came to him. He knew it, did he not? It was a scent both familiar and faceless. Where did he know it fr?. Oh. Oh yes. Lips peeled back and arched and the placid face contorted into something perfectly hellish. The nameless killer. The one that had left the torn and bloody remains of Glaciem?s favorite healer lying in the snow on the border. Any other day, Gargoyle would?ve felt nothing but icy, electrifying anger. But there was a twisted side to it now. He was going to enjoy this. And he would not pounce upon the male in the dark ? No. He?d have a chat first. Gargoyle?s eyes settled upon a figure, standing upon a high ridge of stone and northern brush. Perhaps the brute had seen him already, but, having been drenched in blood, and away from Glaciem for far too long, it was unlikely that Gargoyle would smell anything like the avenging brute this Cretan might suspect. He was just a scab riddled, yellow eyed stranger, trasping through the night to set paw upon the same slab of stone. ?A poor night for travelors,? Gargoyle rumbled in the depths of his chest. Carry on my Wayward Son There'll be peace when you are done Lay your weary head to rest Don't you Cry No More |