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+--- Thread: Moonsong Glacier fəˈnediks (/showthread.php?tid=27362)
fəˈnediks - ZC2 - May 22, 2018
The thin wolf shook his head as though offering a silent answer to an unspoken question, then bundled his muscles in his legs and sprang into a trot. Fingers of fog clawed down from the blue-grey sky, chilling Aquarius to the bone. The aches and pains of his long journey made walking at a fast clip miserable, but it was better than the alternative. He cast his head low between his shoulders and descended along the shattered line where glacier met mountainside, white shoulders raised as if to ward off the gloom.
A sharp stench on the northerly wind made him glance up, wild-eyed, for signs of danger, but a second sample of the air told Aquarius it was only sulphur. He soothed away the tension by dropping his hinds to the dew-wet ground and abruptly stroked his tongue down his foreleg, grimacing at the acrid taste of death found there. All the while his eyes darted over the forest below, seeking out the frightful orange tongue of the Beast rising among the trees.
RE: fəˈnediks - Cortland - May 23, 2018
tagging mostly for reference/visibility
He was restless. The sunset wanderer found no solace in Silvertip Mountain, no sense of belonging. He knew only the emotion that had swelled heavy in the white priest's gaze, and he took it as an example to follow. Such things could only bring him more grief, but he remained ignorant of this— and so, he tortured himself instead. The breathtaking peak should have been home, he thought— it could be, it could be, if only he could make it so. If only he could fix himself.Days passed, and he could not. In the mist of the early morning, under the sun's golden rays, he departed. He said nothing to @Phocion; he planned to return within the day, and thought little of the possibility of worrying his friend. The boy drifted, oblivious and without thought; guiltily he savored the sun on his back, the freedom of solitude, the mindlessness of his travel.
Cortland had not meant to wander so close to the glacier; vast and dying as it was, even his most daring moods had not yet taken him so far. It was the scent of another on the wind that drew him in, ultimately. He approached with light, quick steps, ears drawn forward with interest. The sight of the other halted him in his tracks— a white wolf. The Mayfair was immediately reminded of Phocion, gaze flitting to ink-dipped limbs as if to make certain it was not him. Several beats passed before he dared inch closer, tail swishing behind him as he chuffed a greeting to the pale stranger.
RE: fəˈnediks - ZC2 - May 27, 2018
He finished tending to his sore leg and swiped his tongue over the dirt to rid him of the taste. The metallic bite of the soil here wasn't much better, but at least it wasn't laden with memories. He felt that if he could only rid his fur of the lingering reminders—the apocalyptic smell that clung to his follicles, the heavy cloak of dust and grime, the greasy feeling of each hair on his tongue from stress—then he could outrun it all. The memories would disappear, too.
Aquarius lifted his tapered head away from his foreleg and froze in place when a new scent disrupted his atmosphere. It was a more earthy smell, colder and crisper somehow, and he parted his lips to drink it against his tastebuds. A hint of pine and sun-warmed stone. Nothing familiar, he noted with a flurry of relief.
Still, his tail gave a tense and nervous lash when the bronze-brushed fellow came into sight and a twitch of his limbs brought him to bear. He seemed on the verge of bolting but kept his paws grounded, calmed by the gentle sway of Cortland's tail. He hadn't survived by being bold and brazen, surely, though interest was destined to someday put the nail in Aquarius' coffin. He shifted his dark paws, straightening as best he could despite the thundering of his heart, and said, in a voice soft and limned with helpless hope, "hello! Are... are you from here?"