December 26, 2014, 07:12 PM
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The woods were foreboding, even for the ghastly male who trudged through them, elbow deep in snow. His ashen pelt was spattered with flecks of white that would not release their hold on him. His skin was cold, but as long as the brute continued to move forward, he would not feel it so deeply. Winter was wicked. It drove wolves to hunger and anger. Kierkegaard had a child to feed. Without food in their lands, the odds of survival would be slim. He had not seen Moz in weeks, and he feared that she had abandoned the pack and set off on her own. Because of his adoption of Signe, the male was not able to accompany his sister. His only wish was that she would return. As independent as he was, Kierkegaard relied very heavily on the companionship of his only sibling.
Flicking his tail upwards, the large male drew in the scents around him and breathed deep. Prey was in the air, though the fog was heavy and the trees were too dense for him to see where it was located. Hunching forward, the ghostly figure sought out exactly where the aroma was drifting from. As he shouldered his way through thick brush and deep banks of snow, his ears were drawn forward at the sound of something stirring up ahead.
Taking cover behind the large trunk of a tree, Kierke peered curiously around the base to see a small gaggle of turkeys. There couldn’t have been more than five or six of them, but they did not seem to be aware of his presence. Drawing his tongue across his lips, the brute wondered how many of them he could catch before the others retreated. He did not wager he could get more than two. Still, food was food, and the Demonte-Sairensu male could feel his stomach lurching at the prospect before him.
The woods were foreboding, even for the ghastly male who trudged through them, elbow deep in snow. His ashen pelt was spattered with flecks of white that would not release their hold on him. His skin was cold, but as long as the brute continued to move forward, he would not feel it so deeply. Winter was wicked. It drove wolves to hunger and anger. Kierkegaard had a child to feed. Without food in their lands, the odds of survival would be slim. He had not seen Moz in weeks, and he feared that she had abandoned the pack and set off on her own. Because of his adoption of Signe, the male was not able to accompany his sister. His only wish was that she would return. As independent as he was, Kierkegaard relied very heavily on the companionship of his only sibling.
Flicking his tail upwards, the large male drew in the scents around him and breathed deep. Prey was in the air, though the fog was heavy and the trees were too dense for him to see where it was located. Hunching forward, the ghostly figure sought out exactly where the aroma was drifting from. As he shouldered his way through thick brush and deep banks of snow, his ears were drawn forward at the sound of something stirring up ahead.
Taking cover behind the large trunk of a tree, Kierke peered curiously around the base to see a small gaggle of turkeys. There couldn’t have been more than five or six of them, but they did not seem to be aware of his presence. Drawing his tongue across his lips, the brute wondered how many of them he could catch before the others retreated. He did not wager he could get more than two. Still, food was food, and the Demonte-Sairensu male could feel his stomach lurching at the prospect before him.
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Messages In This Thread
cherry wine - by Kierkegaard - December 26, 2014, 07:12 PM
RE: cherry wine - by Somnia - December 26, 2014, 07:44 PM
RE: cherry wine - by Kierkegaard - December 28, 2014, 02:09 AM
RE: cherry wine - by Somnia - December 28, 2014, 12:09 PM