.It's a .LONG. Road.

[xx S P A R R O W]

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[atrb=background,http://i119.photobucket.com/albums/o128/Southernhorse/Sparrow1copy.jpg] From the WINDS of the .N O R T H. The wind blew from the north and the sun rose from the east. Both splashed on the mountain range on the west side of these lands of Everfrost. The wind would blow the loose snow up into the atmosphere, before the light struck it and illuminated the mane of white. As the sun climbed its heavenly stairs towards noon, the wind whipped harder at the mountain side, blowing more snow and creating a top the highest snow cover point of Columbia a screen of snow and light. So hidden was the mountain top, that the birds could not cross over into the sacred valley beyond. Nothing would be able to get through the blizzard like conditions and into the glory lands of Everfrost. That is nothing except those born in such conditions. Yet it would a while before such a creature could emerge from this near deadly cloud of beauty. Noon came and went. The lands gave only a slight break as the winds changed around mid day. Then it picked up once more this time blowing east-into the valley. The snow mane which had dominated the mountain in the morning was no longer as strong. The outline of the mountain ridge was visible, but still the conditions a top it were not safe for an average beast. Now the sun slide back down towards to highlight the mountains. Its colors, which shown against the range encircling the lands, become proof of the golden globe’s ever shortening life. And with its passing the winds too die down. The light snow settles down into its place once more and just as the sun dips behind it, the mountain becomes still. Yet it is still only for a moment, before a lone figure shapes out from its white slopes. At first, standing in the valley he is hard to see let alone identify as a canine. As he grows closer however, and the snow and ice melt away to rocks it becomes almost painstakingly clear that the ghost is real. Leaping from one rock to the next and disappearing behind them only to reappear it becomes easy to tell why he was so hidden before. A great white shaggy coat wraps him in an invisible cloak on the snowy slopes of Columbia, but with the beast now against the gray rocks, descending the slope he stands out like a lion in the jungle. He doesn’t fit in but he sounds and looks like he should. The next aspect of this strange creature that becomes apparent is his huge size. With thick bones and large muscles and a good bit of fat it is clear the brute is no fox, but a hardy wolf. And when combined with his thick coat is becomes clear why such a creature dared to even cross the mountains-those snowy slopes and high winds were natural to him. Cold and hardships seem to be second nature to him as he leaps from one large boulder to the next. It also curious to note he never looks up to see us watching him. No, he keeps his mind about his task of one foot in front of the other, not seeming to worry about what may be beyond the next foot hold. Sadly our free show must come to an end as he descends down into the dark valley and pines of Everfrost. Once in the woods only the birds resting in their nests for the night have a view of him as he wanders through the gradually leveling slope. The red birds and the blue jays claim to have never seen the beast before, and the deer looks in wonder at such a white wolf, a rarity in Everfrost. It is clear by their reactions, he is not a native, but yet he walks with such ease through these lands like he knows exactly where he is going. Now with us zoomed in so close it is easier to see the physic of the brute. He is a large wolf, standing tall with well defined curves under a thick coat of white fur. His height is mostly his four pillars which stand strong. His front limbs stand out boldly while his back give his huge mass the powerful support for a push it requires. His shoulders are very angular with little just a little curve, it is their size that creates the weight as he has a deep chest. His back has a gentle slope to it from shoulders to hinds, and when his head and down and relaxed it smooths out like most. His stomach which hangs from his backbone is rather round but it is not fat. It is proportionate to his size and if it was a little round then his fur hides it. The white wolf's hinds ripple under his coat with muscles. The had a grand curves and their build shows muscle not fat. This is due to it having to constantly push forward such a heavy mass. A long thick tail ends it. His neck sits a little high on his shoulders but not uncomfortably or awkwardly. Atop this is the regal head, with sharp ears, long muzzle, and large nose. As last his earthen eyes watch the ground directly around him and seem unconcerned with what lies farther beyond. Yet this we shall find is completely false on all grounds. His seemingly blind steps lead the great white wolf to an open meadow at the very base of Columbia Mountain. Here he stops at the edge of the tree line and looks up and over the land for the first time. The almost emotionless earthen eyes glaze over the small pasture. It is rather large and still shows some slight gradient from the mountain. Cutting across from it is a creek which flows over cobbles down from the mountain’s snow run off. Shadowing the creek from the rising moon were trees which grew on either bank at random times. And one tree, near the center of the line, was a weeping willow. The white chest heaved and exhaled, in a deep sigh before he moved forward, with more visible exhaustion than before. The tall meadow grass came to whisk at his stomach as the northern night wind began to blow across the pasture to greet its old friend. Soon reality mixed with a tired wander’s dreams. She rolled against his cheek and pulled longingly at him. Her hands gripped in cold run down as she called with silence out at him. Though he wasn’t fooled, it wasn’t his, she was the nights, no it wasn’t his. He could never forget the gentle kiss upon his cheek she gave him, or the warm envelopment she provided. No, it wasn’t his, his was different. Unlike the night’s she would always be his, and be there for him, no matter what else stood. She was different than the others, she did not kiss and then forget, no she loved, and her gentle whispers in his ear were of truths only. The two were different than the night’s and his, his, was a lover. His was her, and her’s was him. It was a locked connection, or so he would like to pretend. So he would like to pretend it was she. So he was would pretend it was her really kissing his cheek, or caressing him, or dancing with him in the middle of the night. So he would pretend, for –their- sake. And their sake alone. If it wasn’t for them he might not pretend anymore, and accept the fact she was gone, and that the chains rattled louder as he walked towards her. He would sometimes wish to break those chains that held him, so he could hold her ever so close. Yet it could not be, the chains forever to welded together, and she was no longer on this earth. Earth eyes steal away from the world one moment under their dark protections, and the white creature lets loose a breath of resounding effort to let it all go, though as most times, some part always clings on. He could never forget. When the wolf reawakened his sight to the world of illuminated silver light, by way of a full risen moon. The wolf let his eyes sweep slowly to the ground as he stood right at the base of the cold running creek. With another sigh seeming to let go of the remaining lingering images he lowered his large rounded shoulder and his head came to the surface of the water. A pink tongue made its way out timidly at first to lap up the freezing water. But after a day without its refreshment the wolf would take any he could. For a long moment he crouched by the water’s edge and drank his fill, so much so that his hunger went with his thirst. Content he rose and looked to his right to see the silent willow tree wisping about its ribbons in the north wind’s faint breeze of autumn. Like a weary soldier coming home he lumbers towards it and then his head ducks through the gray, silver ribbons of the tree. The creature stepped through completely, and out from the open sky, where the heavens were now fully revealed, and the moon shone powerful, and yet humbly upon the earth’s surface. The wolf, from stepping from through the willow’s still chords, soon seems to shed his exhaustion in layers. He comes around and faces the creek before letting his weary tired bode at last rest on the ground. The regal head came to rest on his paws just behind the willow’s wisping ribbons, and at last he found the peace he’d been tracking. Even if it was temporary. [[ C O M P L E T E ]] [[ W O R D :: 1625 ]] [[ M U S I C :: The River Flows in You ]] [[ .. Open to anyone. =] .. ]]

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[sköldpadda]

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[atrb=background,http://i970.photobucket.com/albums/ae183/sigathkerr/Tables/skoldpaddatablemid.png] A deep, troubled breathing escaped the male's throat as he sauntered unaware through the forest. His bright, copper-ringed eyes were distant and unfocused on the ground as he moved, paying no attention to whatever obstacles might be in his way. His size was sometimes a rewarding thing, as much as it could be a nuisance, because he was one of the biggest wolves around these parts, Skoldpadda didn't have to worry much about other animals or other wolves trying to get in his way. Most things scrambled out of his path pretty quickly. His tail was limp at his flank, swinging lightly with the momentum of his swaying body. Truth was, his life had been completely reversed in the last few seasons. Everything he had ever known had seemed to disappear, the happiness he had finally experienced, if only for a day, was all but gone. He felt hollow now, like a shell. His spacey attention span had returned, if not doubled what it had previously been, and his ignorance was almost inescapable now. One large, russet paw set itself in front of the other, this action repeating time and time again as the wolf wandered with a slow, drawn out stride. He had no particular interest of getting anywhere, he just wanted to be moving, he couldn't stop moving, if he stopped moving for too long, her pretty face was all he could see. He frowned slightly, brow creasing and muzzle parting. Even while he was moving her face was conjuring in his minds eye. She had been such a dainty little thing, her light tones of grey fur, with perfectly distributed cinnamon sprinkles spread out within it. The dark line which had framed her forehead, and her lovely earth toned eyes. He could feel the constant tightness in his chest growing deeper, and he tried to push the image away. This was doing him no good, it was absurd how much of an impact the silly little dame had had on him. One day, that was all it took, and now she was gone. Just vanished. A sigh fell past his muzzle, his gaze rising from the ground beneath his paws but still not seeing anything. That was just the way life went with lone wolves, he assured himself. Maybe one day he would run into her again. The possibilities of that were slim, he knew, he had returned to the mountain countless times before in hopes of running into the beautiful dame, but time and time again there was no one. The pit of his stomach began to clench with that dreaded sinking feeling, and Skoldpadda could feel his jaw gritting as he tried to fight it off. Becoming too attached to another wolf was too risky of a thing, and he realized now that he should not have let Cheyenne get this far into his skin. She had really been something else, though, and he was hopeless to fall for it. He shook his head, finally clearing the image from his head. He couldn't keep daydreaming like this, he needed to focus on the real world, the things that were really going on around him. Blinking once to refocus his eyes, Skoldpadda took a quick, bewildered glance around him. His gaze immediately settled on the clear peak of columbia mountain in the distance, and he could feel his muscles stiffen in a subconscious protest. Why was he going there again? He knew by now that visiting that old damned place was no good, it only hurt him more, but he was compelled, always drawn to it. Even when he wasn't paying attention, his body would move him toward it. Sides quivering with a slight annoyance, Skoldpadda steeled himself for the disappointed ache that would follow the empty plains he found at the base of the mountain. This was almost a daily routine for him, for four seasons now, he would venture to the base of the mountain, where he had first seen her dainty features, and then he would walk to the river, where she'd challenged him to a race, and consequently, beat him. He had never been a particularly strong swimmer, his massive bulk made his body had to manoeuvre through the current. He pressed onward, trying to push back the creeping dread and darkness which was looming over the creases of his mind. He was warm under the sunlight, his thick copper coat shining vibrantly against the earthy hues surrounding him. His gaze wandered around the terrain, flicking toward a small hare which had darted out from behind a tree with some interest. His stomach clenched, then loudly protested to him for not springing after the animal. Yes, he was hungry, but he was too depressed to care much about food for the time being. He inhaled deeply, analyzing the different scents floating through the air. There wasn't much of anything intriguing, besides the smell of the hare, but Skoldpadda thought he picked up on a hint of canid. He stalled for a second, his fluid footsteps stuttering the tiniest bit. A wolf? He felt an absurd leap of hope flourish through him, although he knew it was probably a bad idea, but he couldn't help it. It is not Cheyenne, the voice in his mind reasoned with him, as if speaking with a pup. If it were her, you would recognize the scent, is that a scent you could forget? No, of course not. Skoldpadda's jaw gritted again, disappointed with the fact that he did not recognize this scent. Of course it wasn't Cheyenne, how foolish could he be. His head slumped a fraction, his posture clearing stating his mental state to the outer world. He continued on, however, following the dull trail of canine, in a vain hope that maybe it was indeed Cheyenne, and he had just forgotten her scent over the months. Although his rational mind knew this was not true, he couldn't stop himself from following the smell. His pace picked up slightly, his golden eyes staring off into the distance, making out the approaching shapes. He could hear the dull run of the river as he moved forward, and his gaze settled on a rather large willow tree which had planted itself not too far ahead of him. He slowed slightly, gaze trying to penetrate through the long, spidery branches. A movement quickly caught his attention, and he could feel the hope in his body want to explode out of him, but that was quickly extinguished as a white body emerged from the spider-legs. Skoldpadda let out a long, frustrated sigh, his copper ringed eyes narrowing in frustration with everything. Of course it wasn't her, why would he ever think it would have been? He could have screamed, shouted, or even lunged at this white wolf in rage, but he kept himself relatively composed, aside from the exasperated expression which was laid out across his face. It must have looked like something else, this massive brute standing by himself with such a look plastered across his mug. Too irritated to be able to think, Skoldpadda did the only thing his body would allow him to do, he turned his back on the strange wolf and began to walk off in the way he had come. ooc: ahhhhhhh, sorry for the huge wait! and sorry it's a terrible post! i have no muse lately 'cause school is killllling me. i hope you don't mind me posting with skold, he's just been lonely. haha. and sorry he's being a weirdo.

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