your eyes are the size of the moon
08-19-2014, 06:53 PM
Drago had never felt so young in his life. The wolf was not old, not really. He had just turned six years last season, after all. But still, most wolves his age were getting ready for retirement, to settle down and live a quiet life. Drago was never one for silence, or for settling down. He loved to roam all over. And though he adored Alacritis, when he had explored every cave, climbed every mountain, and braved every dark, eerie forest the lands had to offer him, he would move on, to do the same elsewhere, if he could. But he knew it would take a long, long time to fully search Alacritis, and in the meantime, he would mingle with the inhabitants, gather all the gossip, create bonds that he would forget when he was too old, and likely far away from every friend he ever made. It was sad, perhaps, but the large male's heart just didn't want to remain in any one place. The male shook his tri-colored head to shake away thoughts of leaving. It didn't matter now. His departure would be far from now. Charcoal-tipped paws carried his body effortlessly at an easy lope until he reached a quiet, serene-looking range. Golden hazel gaze roamed in awe around the place as Drago slowed his pace. There was a happy, gentle smile on his features, a loose, easy way in the manner in which he carried himself. The pale orange wolf had forgotten his bundle back where he'd slept for the night, but it didn't matter at the moment, not to him, at least. He enjoyed the cannabis, but he didn't need it. Besides, a day or two without it would lower his tolerance, and he wouldn't need to consume so much to feel its effects. Drago was happy to explore this little range sober, humming a soft, happy tune. Act. "Speak. Italian." Think. |
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