Don't get your hair caught in the propellor
11-03-2014, 03:29 PM
He wasn't sure how long he had been in this place, it felt like eternity. He had yet to meet anyone besides the Queen and his grandfather. He had isolated himself, not even seeing his brother, though that wasn't entirely his fault. Ammy refused to have anything to do with him, he avoided him like a plague. He was perfectly fine staying within his den, but the call of the Queen echoed. If his mother had taught him anything it was to never ignore a pack leaders call. Begrudgingly he would rise, russet paws pressing into the earth as he stretched stiff muscles. He was an awful sight. His coat was matted and dirty, he had lost most of his fat and muscle mass, leaving behind only a russet skeleton. His tail dragged behind him as his head remained low, nose nearly dragging. His gaze was downcast, ears perpetually pulled back. He had become so reclusive that he rarely spoke, rarely left his den, rarely did anything. He was a hermit.
If he had looked up he would have seen the small crowd that already gathered, and was continuing to grow. Haunches would drop unceremoniously to the ground with a thud, his posture was hunched and his attention was settled only on the woman that he supposed would have been his step-grandmother. |
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