Ancient Dances
04-16-2014, 12:50 PM
| Cormalin |
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Large paws carried him across the plains at a slow, dignified stroll, head lowered to take in the scents left on the earth. He was patrolling the borders, something he did for good exercise. He was getting older, but like his sister, Erani, his aging was slower, due to good habits of a strong training regime, daily runs, and staying limber, as well as eating and drinking right, and taking the herbs his sister gave him for bodily health. Heavy black fur only held a hint of grey flecking about the muzzle, hardly enough to be noticed. Fish from the river and lake added to coat health, and his fur was as luxurious as it had been when he was young. The only discerning signs of his aging was the limp in one foreleg, the right one. It came from the injury received in the massacre of his birth pack. While the Nomads had healed it to the best of their abilities, the limp was something he?d carried with him, as well as the scar. He?d have been much worse off, though, had they not found him; he?d be dead. Full-furred tail swayed in a lazy flick as he finished his rounds with no troublesome scents to be found, and he sent up a howl to announce an all-clear, all-well for his patrol round, then turned, eyes sweeping the land beyond the borders of the pack for a last check, before turning away and heading into the territory, halting at the gathering area. A second howl was tossed into the air, a call to his fellow pack mates, inviting them to a spar. |