Post by Deleted on Oct 23, 2014 15:54:46 GMT -5
The autumn had a cold beauty to it. The leaves, a flame in a thousand reds and yellows, were most certainly beautiful. Their occasional, sombre dance as they floated down to the ground, gliding lazily left and right, was a display Vritra could have watched for some time on a happier day. The smell of autumn fruits on the air could be quite enchanting and this beauty was made all the more poignant for the knowledge of the brash summer it once was, and the deadly winter it was becoming. Already a chill had arrived in the air, gusts of wind had that much more bite and the rain was more common and somehow wetter. But all of this paled in comparison to the knowledge of the approaching hunger. He could feel the ghost of the pain and fear an empty belly brought. Even the memory hurt a little. He was determined never to undergo that kind of suffering again and his determination had brought him here, to the northern reaches of Acerbus and the Lleingas Woods.
He had to admit that these woods were perhaps the most, off, he had seen in his life to date. Though many trees were alive many others seemed dead already, as if locked in a permanent winter. A thin mist rolled across the ground, winding between Vritra’s legs, punctuated by random, ragged rocks jutting upwards as if they had burst spontaneously from the ground in some small eruption. This place had its own, unusual, attractions. He would be lying if he did not say that he found this aesthetic somewhat to his taste and something told him that this place would be full of both fauna and flora that played to his particular interests. But what was truly attractive, was the other wolves. He had no intention of facing the oncoming winter alone, he wanted the safety of numbers. But he was not so foolish or naïve as to simply throw himself at a new pack and hope it all worked out.
He needed to assess them, learn something of their character and temperament. His parents, divorced from wider wolf society, had given him little instruction on the nature of the various packs. So he had to conduct his own research. He didn’t want to wander into a death trap after all. To that end Vritra had spent some time in the very northern most reaches of Descai territory. His flecked, russet brown and tan coat served him well in the autumn and he was conservative in the extreme. He took care to bury the remains of any creature he ate, his urine and other body products so as to leave no strong scent, he always hung well back from any other wolf he spied and did his best to remain down wind. He even rolled around in mud and leaves to mask his own scent with the background smells of this dying forest. He would not risk provoking them, by penetrating deep into their territory. Instead he just observed, from the very edge. He spent days doing this, sometimes lying deathly still for what seemed like hours to avoid any risk of detection whilst others were near. He was a patient wolf, extremely so, and his past had taught him the virtue of caution. The information he gathered was extremely limited. He could not see where they slept or raised their young. But he did not notice any overabundance of violence and that was the best he could hope to establish with such cautious and distant reconnaissance.
He was left with little other choice now, but to make his presence known. He would be lying if he said he was not nervous. His fate was about to be placed entirely in the hands of his host and he disliked being so utterly at the mercy of another. He knew not to rely on such kindness, but circumstances left him with no other choice. Heart pounding in his chest he dropped all pretence at stealth, he washed himself off in a stream, vigorously shook himself dry and then walked boldly south. As he went his eyes darted from left to right, propping every shadow for a hidden attacker, his ears pricked at every twig snapped and leaf rustled. He wanted to be found but he did not want to be ambushed.
Eventually he found a small rocky outcrop atop a tiny hill that was little more than a sodden mound. Crucially it put him just a little above the sparse and patchy treeline. There he climbed to the top of the tallest rock, his paws finding surprisingly good grip on the damp and mossy surface. With a few deft scrabbles and bounces he was at the rather underwhelming summit. There he sat, clearly silhouetted against the sky. Interestingly, despite how bold this action was, he lacked the firmness to howl. He tried, but it was like something caught in his throat. His mouth made the shape but the breath just would not come. He tried a second time but just choked, quite literally. What was wrong with him? Was he sick? Or was it something more fundamental? Either way he couldn’t afford to worry about that now. Soon about a hundred pounds of teeth and muscle could well be coming at him and he had to focus on that. He couldn’t get distracted, he couldn’t worry about his voice. Who was he kidding? He was going to be crushed, he was going to be killed, torn limb from limb! These were now the thoughts racing through his mind, his chest felt tight, his head was heavy and light all at once! Wrestling his mind and body back in to line he breathed long and deep, letting the bite of the chill air cool his heart and mind. It was this state, controlled, having brought himself back from the edge of panic, that he would be discovered
He had to admit that these woods were perhaps the most, off, he had seen in his life to date. Though many trees were alive many others seemed dead already, as if locked in a permanent winter. A thin mist rolled across the ground, winding between Vritra’s legs, punctuated by random, ragged rocks jutting upwards as if they had burst spontaneously from the ground in some small eruption. This place had its own, unusual, attractions. He would be lying if he did not say that he found this aesthetic somewhat to his taste and something told him that this place would be full of both fauna and flora that played to his particular interests. But what was truly attractive, was the other wolves. He had no intention of facing the oncoming winter alone, he wanted the safety of numbers. But he was not so foolish or naïve as to simply throw himself at a new pack and hope it all worked out.
He needed to assess them, learn something of their character and temperament. His parents, divorced from wider wolf society, had given him little instruction on the nature of the various packs. So he had to conduct his own research. He didn’t want to wander into a death trap after all. To that end Vritra had spent some time in the very northern most reaches of Descai territory. His flecked, russet brown and tan coat served him well in the autumn and he was conservative in the extreme. He took care to bury the remains of any creature he ate, his urine and other body products so as to leave no strong scent, he always hung well back from any other wolf he spied and did his best to remain down wind. He even rolled around in mud and leaves to mask his own scent with the background smells of this dying forest. He would not risk provoking them, by penetrating deep into their territory. Instead he just observed, from the very edge. He spent days doing this, sometimes lying deathly still for what seemed like hours to avoid any risk of detection whilst others were near. He was a patient wolf, extremely so, and his past had taught him the virtue of caution. The information he gathered was extremely limited. He could not see where they slept or raised their young. But he did not notice any overabundance of violence and that was the best he could hope to establish with such cautious and distant reconnaissance.
He was left with little other choice now, but to make his presence known. He would be lying if he said he was not nervous. His fate was about to be placed entirely in the hands of his host and he disliked being so utterly at the mercy of another. He knew not to rely on such kindness, but circumstances left him with no other choice. Heart pounding in his chest he dropped all pretence at stealth, he washed himself off in a stream, vigorously shook himself dry and then walked boldly south. As he went his eyes darted from left to right, propping every shadow for a hidden attacker, his ears pricked at every twig snapped and leaf rustled. He wanted to be found but he did not want to be ambushed.
Eventually he found a small rocky outcrop atop a tiny hill that was little more than a sodden mound. Crucially it put him just a little above the sparse and patchy treeline. There he climbed to the top of the tallest rock, his paws finding surprisingly good grip on the damp and mossy surface. With a few deft scrabbles and bounces he was at the rather underwhelming summit. There he sat, clearly silhouetted against the sky. Interestingly, despite how bold this action was, he lacked the firmness to howl. He tried, but it was like something caught in his throat. His mouth made the shape but the breath just would not come. He tried a second time but just choked, quite literally. What was wrong with him? Was he sick? Or was it something more fundamental? Either way he couldn’t afford to worry about that now. Soon about a hundred pounds of teeth and muscle could well be coming at him and he had to focus on that. He couldn’t get distracted, he couldn’t worry about his voice. Who was he kidding? He was going to be crushed, he was going to be killed, torn limb from limb! These were now the thoughts racing through his mind, his chest felt tight, his head was heavy and light all at once! Wrestling his mind and body back in to line he breathed long and deep, letting the bite of the chill air cool his heart and mind. It was this state, controlled, having brought himself back from the edge of panic, that he would be discovered
