creature fear

Kierkegaard · October 22, 2014, 10:25 AM

Early morning fog still clung to the earth in a desperate attempt to remain before the sun rose to effortlessly wipe it away. It had a comforting and unsettling effect on the hulking grey creature. His sharp gaze peered cautiously through its remains, perhaps more uncomfortable that he had drawn so close to pack land than in the duration of the misty morning. If anything, it was a cover for Kierkegaard to cloak himself in.
The ashen brute had been on high alert. The bite marks that had been scored down his hock had, in fact, gotten infected and had rendered him close to useless. The male had relied solely on his sister for food, and he was certain that she was growing tired of caring for him. Kierkegaard did not have friends and therefore, he had no means of medical help. The Sairensu male had met only a select few others in the Teekon area in the duration of his stay, but even still… he had not really found any of his interactions with them to warrant a request for assistance. The fault came from his inability to learn the proper treatment for minor injuries. He was impatient, not to mention a loner, which entailed that he was constantly moving… there was no time to stop to tend to his wounds. As his limp had worsened, the grey-furred beast actually began to fear for what was to come.
Flicking his ears forward and pausing in his trek, Kierkegaard’s fur began to bristle along his spine and neck. His sense of smell was muffled by the overwhelming odor of blood. The male had - clasped in his jaws - a large hare. He only hoped that it would be enough. As he drew closer to the border, Kierkegaard would pause to drop his catch and check for scent markers. He could not afford to trespass on their land. From what he recalled, his gender was not looked on so highly by the leaders of the pack. It was either a mistake – seeking out their borders – or it would help save him from his own stubborn foolishness. Either way, it was the last option that remained for him.
Stock-still legs held him at a reasonable distance from the border. His eyes trailed the surroundings with a fluttering of unease in his gut. Lowering the hare to the ground, Kierkegaard drew his skull upwards and breathed deep the salty air that seemed to surround the pack. The male’s back leg quivered from the pressure that had been applied before dawn had even struck the Teekon. And though he knew how unlikely it was that she would come to the borders, he feared lifting his head and calling out to her. So, he waited.