Post by Deleted on Jan 30, 2013 2:47:42 GMT -5
He lay with his paws tucked beneath his chin, hind legs curled comfortably beside him. The sky was a bleak grey today, hinting at more snow to come, and the chilly wind nagged at him without cease. The smell of brine was heavy in the air, and the rhythmic crash of waves on sand was soothing to the jaded grey wolf. He closed his eyes and breathed deep, feeling his ribs expand to accommodate the sudden inrush of oxygen. It had been a short time since he was accepted into Airila, and one of the many perks about living here was having access to the ocean. He'd never seen the "great water" before, though he'd heard other wolves speak of it with wonder. Sometimes when his turbulent emotions threatened to overwhelm him, he would meander down to the beach and sit in the cavern, or else go for a short walk on the sand. It was too cold for him to go swimming, but he enjoyed the atmosphere down here at the edge of the continent, where the vastness of the ocean seemed to shrink his problems down to nothing.
Eyelids drifted shut as his weary limbs began to protest once more, and he shifted himself to a more comfortable position on the sand. He'd patrolled the borders of Airila last night, and thankfully found no trouble, though he doubted his abilities to separate loner from packmate. Toiro was the only wolf from Airila that he knew right now. Still, the exercise was good for him, and it made him feel like he was doing something useful for the pack. He tried to use the opportunity to do some hunting as well, even if it wasn't really his job. Occasionally he would wander down to the dens and pick up a carcass from the food pile, but it felt awkward eating something that a stranger had put time and effort into killing. And since he didn't really know anyone yet, it was hard to feel like he really belonged here. His meeting with Toiro had gone well, and he'd been surprised at how ... amiably the Alpha had treated him. There had been no power plays, no death threats, not even a hint of aggression directed his way. If the rest of the pack was like this benevolent Alpha, then it was very likely that he would not need to defend himself here, or worry about other wolves belittling him. But still ... old habits die hard, and the damage had been done in his youth. Javan was highly suspicious of all wolves, and expected harsh words and trickery at every turn. He'd been picked on before, suffered the shame of being an omega wolf, and climbed his way out of that rank through exercising sheer cruelty. It was no wonder, then, that he was bitter and enraged, his anger finding no outlet here.
That was who he was. Who he wanted to be, however, was a different story.
Javan could remember his birth pack. He could remember his parents, their shaman who used to tell stories when she worked her healing magic, the fierce warriors and athletic hunters that he'd always admired. His littermates, a brother and a sister, who he shared his puphood with. His parents taught him how to hunt, and he used to spend hours following prey, using trial and error to learn. He was good-natured and easy to get along with, always the first one to crack a joke or comfort someone in distress. That was before the hardships of famine and the atrocities of a ruthless invading pack, one that killed the weak and sought only to expand territory.
He was in a new home now. There was no need anymore to be frustrated and angry. Everyone he'd despised were either missing or dead, and what awaited him was a future in which he could wholeheartedly serve a family he'd chosen. But strangely, he could not let the negative emotions go. They had become a part of him, woven into the fabric of his being. With the absence of familiar things, he clung to what he knew, and at the same time, feared that he would alienate others who would otherwise want to be his friend. Friends? He didn't remember what it was like to have one. Even his brother and sister had betrayed him. There was no one he could trust except for himself, and even then it was a tentative trust at best. Maybe it was lonely, but if so, he'd been that way for most of his life. He could not change in an instant; all the undesirable threads woven into his being would need to be picked away, slowly, or else who he was would begin to unravel.
Morning wore slowly into afternoon, and the grey wolf slipped into dreams, his eyes shut, lulled by the sounds of nature around him. Suddenly he awoke, not sure of what had disturbed him, but feeling unable to go back to sleep. He sat up, dragging his forepaws beneath him, and glanced down the stretch of beach. Some foreign shape close to the water took hold of his attention - it looked like something had washed up onshore? Standing up, he trotted towards it, nostrils twitching with curiosity. The object came into closer detail, and he made out what looked like a large bowl washed up from the belly of the ocean, trailing clammy seaweed. The remains of a spinal cord were visible, along with a few decayed bones attached by slender strands of ligaments. Javan cocked his head sideways as he inspected it, trying to figure out what it was. Horseshoe crab? Sea turtle? Something else with a strange shell upon its back?
Eyelids drifted shut as his weary limbs began to protest once more, and he shifted himself to a more comfortable position on the sand. He'd patrolled the borders of Airila last night, and thankfully found no trouble, though he doubted his abilities to separate loner from packmate. Toiro was the only wolf from Airila that he knew right now. Still, the exercise was good for him, and it made him feel like he was doing something useful for the pack. He tried to use the opportunity to do some hunting as well, even if it wasn't really his job. Occasionally he would wander down to the dens and pick up a carcass from the food pile, but it felt awkward eating something that a stranger had put time and effort into killing. And since he didn't really know anyone yet, it was hard to feel like he really belonged here. His meeting with Toiro had gone well, and he'd been surprised at how ... amiably the Alpha had treated him. There had been no power plays, no death threats, not even a hint of aggression directed his way. If the rest of the pack was like this benevolent Alpha, then it was very likely that he would not need to defend himself here, or worry about other wolves belittling him. But still ... old habits die hard, and the damage had been done in his youth. Javan was highly suspicious of all wolves, and expected harsh words and trickery at every turn. He'd been picked on before, suffered the shame of being an omega wolf, and climbed his way out of that rank through exercising sheer cruelty. It was no wonder, then, that he was bitter and enraged, his anger finding no outlet here.
That was who he was. Who he wanted to be, however, was a different story.
Javan could remember his birth pack. He could remember his parents, their shaman who used to tell stories when she worked her healing magic, the fierce warriors and athletic hunters that he'd always admired. His littermates, a brother and a sister, who he shared his puphood with. His parents taught him how to hunt, and he used to spend hours following prey, using trial and error to learn. He was good-natured and easy to get along with, always the first one to crack a joke or comfort someone in distress. That was before the hardships of famine and the atrocities of a ruthless invading pack, one that killed the weak and sought only to expand territory.
He was in a new home now. There was no need anymore to be frustrated and angry. Everyone he'd despised were either missing or dead, and what awaited him was a future in which he could wholeheartedly serve a family he'd chosen. But strangely, he could not let the negative emotions go. They had become a part of him, woven into the fabric of his being. With the absence of familiar things, he clung to what he knew, and at the same time, feared that he would alienate others who would otherwise want to be his friend. Friends? He didn't remember what it was like to have one. Even his brother and sister had betrayed him. There was no one he could trust except for himself, and even then it was a tentative trust at best. Maybe it was lonely, but if so, he'd been that way for most of his life. He could not change in an instant; all the undesirable threads woven into his being would need to be picked away, slowly, or else who he was would begin to unravel.
Morning wore slowly into afternoon, and the grey wolf slipped into dreams, his eyes shut, lulled by the sounds of nature around him. Suddenly he awoke, not sure of what had disturbed him, but feeling unable to go back to sleep. He sat up, dragging his forepaws beneath him, and glanced down the stretch of beach. Some foreign shape close to the water took hold of his attention - it looked like something had washed up onshore? Standing up, he trotted towards it, nostrils twitching with curiosity. The object came into closer detail, and he made out what looked like a large bowl washed up from the belly of the ocean, trailing clammy seaweed. The remains of a spinal cord were visible, along with a few decayed bones attached by slender strands of ligaments. Javan cocked his head sideways as he inspected it, trying to figure out what it was. Horseshoe crab? Sea turtle? Something else with a strange shell upon its back?