Kintla Flatlands Wake me up when September ends

A feeling that could be described as similar to both disappointment and relief came and dissipated with a intake and output of breath. Yuda was used to wolves losing interest when an immediate response was not provided — even those of his own pack. It was not close to self-pity, just as it was that the earth and the stars were a seemingly infinite distance apart; though, the boy thought that the earth and the gods were even further apart, for gods could never be touched in any life time.

Within a few beats of his heart, hollow eyes examined the plateau and then the male beneath the make-shift umbrella. Yuda knew there were merely two choices, and none besides that. Either the loud wolf across the river took residence upon the forest that rested on a pedestal, or he did not. The youth knew for certain that the sheltered adult did not like the rain.

A lack of emotion was nearly permanently nestled upon his own contrasting face. Turning his neck further, the youth picked up his same pace and walked straight into the river. He did not focus on the possibility of slipping paws, though it was taken into consideration. A mind set upon failure guaranteed one to lose.

It was impossible for his coat to be even more soaked. When he left the river, it was as if he had never parted ways with it; the young body was still drenched completely, and it was always a waste of time to free his pelt of liquid, no matter how great and no matter how molecular.

Pace continued, Yuda proceeded forward, but halted more than a dozen feet away. Liquid slid down his face and into dark eyes, but he did not flinch.