Post by Strike on Sept 2, 2012 11:22:06 GMT -5
The sun showed brightly, shining through the branches of the forest. It reflected magnificently off the vibrantly colored floral. Some even seemed to glitter while others glowed. But strike paid no mind to these things. They were meant to be distracting. They could entrance a creature, paralyze it until another killed and ate it, the leftovers nutrients for the vegetation. Sometimes creatures would eat the distracting plants, the poisons working all too quickly after. He was no victim but rather the top of the food chain. He could not, would not fall for the petty tricky. He was beyond that.
There he stood, eyes closed and standing tall in the surrounding plants. With his nose high, he scented, taking in the odd smells just past the tree line. Images flashed in his mind, memories combined and blurred. He could not think of the words to go with them, he was beyond that. He only remembered the emotions. The negatives were so much, building and building. What lay beyond only held hurt, fear and misery. There were only some things that were good, positive. But they must have been lost in all of that terribleness. There was love and warmth in there, but every instinct screamed to go the other way. He was beyond that.
Caught in the middle of choices, he camped close by, enough he remained curious but at the same time, out of danger’s way. The warmth of the sun engulfed him and he felt comforted knowing this world. He remembered cold, dark, small places in the beyond. Here, it was bright, open and free. But he couldn’t understand the compelling he felt. He opened his eyes, remembering being once captured in black cloth, constricted. His skin was now once more tanned and his fur could grow freely upon transformation. The only thing he wore was the leathers of his long lost tribe. His people. The black lines, once called tattoos, freely explored his skin, dancing with the light that touched him. Bone fragments and metal clasped to a strand of his hair, crudely cut by blade, and a single feather tied to the end. The feather of a harpy that was not easy to defeat. Why had he once allowed himself to be captured? He was beyond that.
He only had handmade weapons, his sword long gone. Lost to the world beyond… That was why. That was the compelling. His sword, the last piece to his family, his people, his existence. A deep, low, guttural growl vibrated his throat as his silver eyes dangerously narrowed on the tree line before him. But still, he could not bring himself forward.
There he stood, eyes closed and standing tall in the surrounding plants. With his nose high, he scented, taking in the odd smells just past the tree line. Images flashed in his mind, memories combined and blurred. He could not think of the words to go with them, he was beyond that. He only remembered the emotions. The negatives were so much, building and building. What lay beyond only held hurt, fear and misery. There were only some things that were good, positive. But they must have been lost in all of that terribleness. There was love and warmth in there, but every instinct screamed to go the other way. He was beyond that.
Caught in the middle of choices, he camped close by, enough he remained curious but at the same time, out of danger’s way. The warmth of the sun engulfed him and he felt comforted knowing this world. He remembered cold, dark, small places in the beyond. Here, it was bright, open and free. But he couldn’t understand the compelling he felt. He opened his eyes, remembering being once captured in black cloth, constricted. His skin was now once more tanned and his fur could grow freely upon transformation. The only thing he wore was the leathers of his long lost tribe. His people. The black lines, once called tattoos, freely explored his skin, dancing with the light that touched him. Bone fragments and metal clasped to a strand of his hair, crudely cut by blade, and a single feather tied to the end. The feather of a harpy that was not easy to defeat. Why had he once allowed himself to be captured? He was beyond that.
He only had handmade weapons, his sword long gone. Lost to the world beyond… That was why. That was the compelling. His sword, the last piece to his family, his people, his existence. A deep, low, guttural growl vibrated his throat as his silver eyes dangerously narrowed on the tree line before him. But still, he could not bring himself forward.