Mud Slide and Army Knives
03-26-2019, 04:46 PM
Lament Pyre There was a wandering itch in his paws, and it was good to discover the world past the meager parts he knew. Or was it rediscover? Nothing held any hint of familiarity to him as he moved cautiously through the lands. His wandering eyes studying everything as he passed, searching for some hint, some hidden gem that would push out another memory. Like the way this great tree curved upwards, its long, willowy branches creaking just so in the breeze. He slowed as he approached it, feeling something stirring in his breast. He thought for a moment, this might be it, the linchpin that released his memories to him. He let his eyes wonder from the trunk to the tips of the branches, and flowers, just barely opened with the start of spring. The time it took to approach its trunk gave him nothing, and well he didn’t stop, he slowed, and brushed his tail gently against its rough texture. There was something about the tree.. Not this one, but another, like the tree in his dreams. That one held only the barest hint of a shape, and if he studied it too long, it broke away like waves in his mind’s eye. No, he wouldn’t find his answers this easily. He gave the tree another, parting look, respect in his eyes, before moving on. The world was filled with noise, of thinkings waking and greeting the day. Of birds calling to their mates, their families, the world itself. The chittering of climbing things hidden in the trees around him. The world was loud, and he was quiet, his steps muted with practiced ease as they tread softly across the earth. There was a lithe strength to his movements, the tautness of skin over muscles, and the long trek meant nothing to him. It was strange, this rediscovering of his body, and its capabilities. He knew that it ached for a routine he could not quite remember, and all he could give it was long days of exercise, or hard treks and strange views. He knew it wasn’t enough, but he was forced to accept that it sufficed. Sounds of voices broke the familiar patterns of the creatures around him, and he found himself drawn in the direction of the speaker. He broke through the trees, and would find the wolf and her companion, standing in the mud and wearing half its bulk across their forms. He placed himself into a position where they would see him, his paws whispered a smile, attentive, warm greeting. but of course, she would not know the language of his paws. No one here did, and it was this more then anything that told him he was far from home. “Mornings greetings to you and yours” his rich, warm voice softly called out, pitched only just enough to carry to her and no more. Shouting felt uncouth in an instinctive, natural way that he could not explain. He stood patiently there, in a place before the earth shifted to mud. his blank, un-moving expression giving nothing away. |
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