Rainbow Road
11-24-2018, 12:57 PM
The young male had the scrawny, unfinished appearance that in any species spoke of a yearling who had not yet reached sexual maturity and the muscle tone those hormones would bring. He was also relatively small in comparison to the unusual size of the wolves who tended to inhabit the continent's here. But despite his shorter stature, despite his relatively gangly appearance, the young canine showed signs of the massive shepherd dog he would be when he reached his full potential.
Even his mature personality shone through the wide eyed wonder and idealism of youth. Steady patience, caution, and keen observation was evident in his eyes and stance, though he had yet to acquire the muscle to back it up and the experience to temper his passion.
Though not the glory of majestic fluff it would be in his adulthood, the youth's coat was plenty thick and fluffy enough for the autumn chill here in the north. The north in general, and these mountainous areas in particular, were very similar to the environment that had spawned his breed and they suited him immensely.
What didn't suit him was the very thing that had driven him to leave his clan, what had led his clan's youths to leave their mountain stronghold for generations. Some of them returned, older and wiser, but many more had been lost to the outside world. Their line persisted despite the restlessness that stole so many pups from them, the same thing that had driven Bjorn to leave the mountain. A lack of purpose. That was what haunted the dogs of the mountain. They were shepherds with no sheep, an insular band of dogs who had omce lived to serve one master, one human and his family, but humans were no more. They had no sheep to guard, no helpless hairless humans to protect, only themselves in a mountain long ago cleared of enemies. So they left as pups, and only those who survived but found no greater purpose in the outside world returned.
So Bjorn left.
He had found himself in a world remarkably like home, but devoid of dogs. Not devoid of canine life, no. He had seen the tracks every shepherd learned as a pup to identify their enemies. Fox, bear, coyote... wolf. Chief among the dog-like enemies of the shepherds, wolves. Though the big cats, cougar and lynx and the like, were very formidable foes, few inspired the sort of raw hate among the elders as wolves. Bjorn though perhaps it was because they were so much more like dogs than any other species. They had the capacity to work together that few others canine species had, but they had disdained to serve humankind as dogs had chosen.
But there were no humans for anyone to serve, and so maintaining old prejudices built on that foundation had always seemed to the young Bjorn to be a waste of energy and potential resources. So when he had come across those tracks earlier, fairly fresh, he had studied them with curiosity but without any rancor before he had moved on to seek out the jagged boulder he currently sprawled upon as a vantage point to keep a weather eye out for danger while he rested.
Even his mature personality shone through the wide eyed wonder and idealism of youth. Steady patience, caution, and keen observation was evident in his eyes and stance, though he had yet to acquire the muscle to back it up and the experience to temper his passion.
Though not the glory of majestic fluff it would be in his adulthood, the youth's coat was plenty thick and fluffy enough for the autumn chill here in the north. The north in general, and these mountainous areas in particular, were very similar to the environment that had spawned his breed and they suited him immensely.
What didn't suit him was the very thing that had driven him to leave his clan, what had led his clan's youths to leave their mountain stronghold for generations. Some of them returned, older and wiser, but many more had been lost to the outside world. Their line persisted despite the restlessness that stole so many pups from them, the same thing that had driven Bjorn to leave the mountain. A lack of purpose. That was what haunted the dogs of the mountain. They were shepherds with no sheep, an insular band of dogs who had omce lived to serve one master, one human and his family, but humans were no more. They had no sheep to guard, no helpless hairless humans to protect, only themselves in a mountain long ago cleared of enemies. So they left as pups, and only those who survived but found no greater purpose in the outside world returned.
So Bjorn left.
He had found himself in a world remarkably like home, but devoid of dogs. Not devoid of canine life, no. He had seen the tracks every shepherd learned as a pup to identify their enemies. Fox, bear, coyote... wolf. Chief among the dog-like enemies of the shepherds, wolves. Though the big cats, cougar and lynx and the like, were very formidable foes, few inspired the sort of raw hate among the elders as wolves. Bjorn though perhaps it was because they were so much more like dogs than any other species. They had the capacity to work together that few others canine species had, but they had disdained to serve humankind as dogs had chosen.
But there were no humans for anyone to serve, and so maintaining old prejudices built on that foundation had always seemed to the young Bjorn to be a waste of energy and potential resources. So when he had come across those tracks earlier, fairly fresh, he had studied them with curiosity but without any rancor before he had moved on to seek out the jagged boulder he currently sprawled upon as a vantage point to keep a weather eye out for danger while he rested.