st. peter loses cool and bars the gates
poem
06-10-2019, 01:08 AM
Epitaph Destruction Cool air raced thin fingers through his fur as the male limped towards the familiar den near the Rapids, crippled leg dragging uselessly. The moon was well above the horizon now, though not quite at its peak. The day had been long, tending to victims of the fire. He was exhausted, mentally and physically. There was nothing the dark wolf wanted to do more than settle into his bed and sleep until he was forced awake again tomorrow. The descent into the den itself was difficult, with his limbs deadened by exhaustion and strain. It was slow going, and the last few steps were no more than his feeble attempt to keep from falling the rest of the way down. However, the only one in the den was Poem. He could see her ashen form curled up right away, even in the low light. Miss Shaye must still have been out dealing with the aftermath of the fire. He did worry though as to where Motif could be. Perhaps with the lion who she had ardently defended only a few days prior? Regardless, Epitaph attempted to remain as quiet as possible as he shuffled his way to his little offshoot of the den. If Poem was already asleep, he wouldn't want to wake her. The girl would need all the rest she could get for the coming summer, after everything that had happened. |
avatar lines courtesy of trask-klng on dA
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