Lost Creek Hollow my father took one hundred and thirty-two minutes to die
All Welcome  June 14, 2018, 09:21 PM
Lone Wolves

Thunder rolled overhead, graceless and threatening.
The ashen brute prowled forward with an air of leonine grace that seemed to wrap against his limbs and encase him in a shroud of predatory nature. The dull gleam in his molten stare sought the hollow ahead, scoping it out with a calculated stare. The trees seemed to shake and quiver against the pull of the wind. Each zephyr was enough to tear against the newly formed leaves, ripping against them with reckless abandon. The breath of it against his frame took the tendrils of his coat and forced them to dance. The siege of the weather was enough to cause him to take shelter in the cleft. He hunkered low, prowling with the very intention of making it to the rut in the wood and to find a moment of peace.
It had been some time since he had roamed the earth of the Teekon Wilds. Kavos had returned with no clear path before him; he had adopted the life of a vagabond at a young age. The resemblance to his paternal lineage was haunting. Even in the low light of the dark evening clouds, he cut a fierce figure. Were it that his father’s body had been thrust back several years and many of the hardships had been taken from him, he would have stood as a mirror image to the young boy.
Droplets began to fall from the thick plumes. Kavos was not stirred by this, or by the gale winds that buffeted against his powerful figure. The breath of the wild was upon him. It consumed him.