the anthem of success
08-07-2013, 07:45 PM
~*~
Such a lovely, haunting place. Now that summer had finally found it's way to the northern fringes, the lake had begun to melt. On a cool morning like this one, with the air still snappy and crisp enough to freeze your eye lashes, the water seemed to be nothing more than a mirror. The spires of the tree tops, like masts of parially sunken ships, stuck out here and there, and seemed to hang in space. They drifted in and out of the mist that rose heavily about the place. It was the thick, mountain fog sort, that sought to cling to your very bones.
Out of the white shrouds, came a grey figurine. As the ground-clouds faded from her path, a grey, dappled feline was produced, with eyes like the sea before a storm. She was as silent as the mist itself, coming down to the lip of the water and lowering her rounded muzzle til the whiskers cast the tiniest dance of ripples. A small, rough tongue lapped delicately at the unearthly pool. But the cat was not fooled by the fog. She knew was not alone. There was another here; the stillness of the air and heaviness of the cloud made it nigh impossible to get a clear scent reading, but she heard him moving. Too soft to be anything like a bear or elk, but too loud to be any sort of small game. For the breifest of moments her heart escaped it's silver-barred cage. It did a double-beat, trilling with excitement, with the merest possibility that the unknown was another feline.
Snow leopards are usually solitary hunters. But even the loners have chance meetings upon their borders, or lover's encounters during the mating season. Silverback had never had either. Her mother had died early and Silverback had been left alone in the world. Which, for a time, was just how she liked it. But now her curiosity for her kind had flamed from embers to open fire. Her constant searching had brought her large, soft paws over endless miles and mountain ranges. She had met and spoken with many wolves, but no other cats. And not a soul had been able to say they'd ever seen another beast like her. Each time her question was answered with a negative, it had begun to drive a thorn into her heart. What once would not have effected her, now hurt more and more each time.
She was four years old. And even though that translated as closer to two for wolves, she ought to know better than to put her hopes up like that. To prove her patience to herself, she didn't call out. Didn't beckon to the unknown. The ice siren merely remained crouched at the water's edge, with her elongated tail flicking over the bank, and her head gazing out over the water.
08-07-2013, 08:07 PM
~*~
It was hardly the sculpted, whiskered knight she had hoped for. Just another dumb mutt. One of the wolves that seemed to have bred like rabbits and overpopulated this particular corner of the world. This was one was black, like another she'd met. And he looked scared; very scared. She only knew because, after the pawsteps had come close and then stopped, she'd slowly twisted an ear round. Then her face- just enough to be able to glance at him out of the corner of her right eyes. Typical, she thought to herself. And yet... and yet dog company was better than no company sometimes. She'd already warmed up to a couple of canines during her travels. What was the harm in gracing one more with her presence?
A slow exhale warped itself from her steely lungs. It blew out over the lake and turned immediately to white. Just another cloud for the sea which surrounded them. "Well?" Silver, purring tones bent the silence rather than broke it; they were much to luxurious and beautiful to do that. "Are you going to stand there til the world stops turning, or are you going to come closer?" Sometimes she really did enjoy playing with fear. She was a huntress after all, and they were right to fear her. In a pack, a wolf was untouchable, but one it's own? There were far more dangerous beasts in the woods. Silverback could play the housecat when she wished. She could be pleasant and genuine and even, on occasion, playful. But she never forgot just how powerful and proud an example of creation she was.
At this point, though the morning was young and fresh, her eyes were darkened to it. Bitterness clawed at her. The sight of another mutt instead of a cat had managed to push that barb in just a little deeper. Her mood was perched precariously as a bluebird on a pine needle. To attempt to please her and she would welcome the chance to be soothed, but to go against her whim was to invite danger. She needed something to ease the unrest within her soul. Whether it was companionship or adrenaline and blood made no difference to her.