Graceful Rooms of Alabaster Stone

. . .



The worlds that came from the shale-colored wolf weren't exactly reassuring. Why was it that an unworthy one could hold a crown? Cross's eyes fell to the snow beneath his paws. "At least you have the sight to see him for what he is." Perhaps this Taurig would've been a far better leader. He already had an internal sense of fairness, and at least enough of a moral compass to see when someone else was off course. The world was never as it should be, was it? The tyrants ruled, the warriors were cast out and the weak ones suffered. Save of course, when another wolf was strong enough to step in for them. Of course, you stand up, and you'll get shot down eventually. But that was alright. Everyone goes goes down one way or another. "No reign lasts forever," Cross murmured. It wasn't meant to be any sort of threat towards the male's father, but just a simple stated fact. Good or Bad, this too shall pass.

Cross raised his head just in time for a snowflake to come to rest on it's sooty tip. He shook his head. Enough of this staying put. "I came hear to run my old haunts. If you've a mind to keep up, old one, you're welcome to come along." The barest twist of a smirk faded across his muzzle as he turned round. There was a quick shudder as his shoulders rolled and ever muscle in his body uncoiled - then he was running out across the snow, an ivory bullet, a ghost somewhere between the grey sky and the white earth, chasing unseen visions at a break neck pace.







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