Hope is for presidents and dreams are for people who are sleeping
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Ooc — Ryan
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Each step was a little easier than the last. The ragged wolf's limp was becoming much less pronounced in the week following their unsuccessful raid, but the ragged bastard's mind was still in a flurry. He played possible scenarios in his head, over and over again, making slight changes, but each time the Ankyrans came short. DuskFire would retaliate... he was sure.
His near empty herb cache was the gaunt wolf's first priority. A healer is no good with just words alone. Unfortunately, however beautiful Ankyra was, it was relatively inhospitable to most plant life, which forced the broken bastard into traveling long distances for the chance of finding something... anything.
Reek set out on the coastline toward the south-east, a direction he had yet to take in his month on the coast, in the hopes that it would provide him with a medicinal bounty. Just as he was beginning to tire, he spotted a silver toned female dipping her paws in the water and staring out to sea. It reminded him of his first time gazing out into the blue abyss. How it consumed him. Herbs could wait.
Living under the iron paw of the sirens could be difficult, especially adhering to their strange social rules. The talkative bastard was bound by laws of the tongue, to speak only when spoken to and to always be submissive/respectful, (though he rarely followed these rules, which ended with stern reprimand). "What's a pretty wolf like yourself doing all alone?" The bastard chided across the beach with a sardonic smirk. The bastard chomped at the bit for conversation without social constraint... a real talk. Wouldn't that be nice?
His near empty herb cache was the gaunt wolf's first priority. A healer is no good with just words alone. Unfortunately, however beautiful Ankyra was, it was relatively inhospitable to most plant life, which forced the broken bastard into traveling long distances for the chance of finding something... anything.
Reek set out on the coastline toward the south-east, a direction he had yet to take in his month on the coast, in the hopes that it would provide him with a medicinal bounty. Just as he was beginning to tire, he spotted a silver toned female dipping her paws in the water and staring out to sea. It reminded him of his first time gazing out into the blue abyss. How it consumed him. Herbs could wait.
Living under the iron paw of the sirens could be difficult, especially adhering to their strange social rules. The talkative bastard was bound by laws of the tongue, to speak only when spoken to and to always be submissive/respectful, (though he rarely followed these rules, which ended with stern reprimand). "What's a pretty wolf like yourself doing all alone?" The bastard chided across the beach with a sardonic smirk. The bastard chomped at the bit for conversation without social constraint... a real talk. Wouldn't that be nice?
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Messages In This Thread
The cow goes moo - by Tempest - March 18, 2015, 08:55 PM
RE: The cow goes moo - by Reek - March 19, 2015, 09:32 AM