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The Twisting Den

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The Twisting Den - Page 15 Empty The Twisting Den

Post by Hurricane on Sat May 25, 2013 12:05 am

First topic message reminder :

This den is a maze of tunnels intertwined with each other, only the members knowing how to get through it without being lost. A small hole in the roof lets water drip into the den and leaves a large pool of water for the canids. This is the main roleplay area.

Prey: W.I.P

Predators: W.I.P
Hurricane
Hurricane
Leader

Join date : 2013-05-15

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The Twisting Den - Page 15 Empty Re: The Twisting Den

Post by Thunter on Wed Feb 12, 2014 6:53 pm

To exhausted Thunter hoped that somebody else would see to the other member. But thinking "ah If I want a good rep with this pack I might as well start here" Thunter stumbled other too see if the fallen member needed help.

Thunter
Newcomer

Join date : 2014-01-09

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The Twisting Den - Page 15 Empty Re: The Twisting Den

Post by Jennezia on Sat Feb 15, 2014 11:50 pm


Nessa






word count;; 1877



She remembered her brother's death a bit too vividly for comfort. His dark leg, sliced perfectly through the ankle in a deep gash. Blood seeping out of the corroded hole in fingers of red, streaks of shiny, horrible red. His breaths were short but urgent as he told her to forget about him and to leave the forest before she was carried away. That there was a pack ahead that she needed to stay out of the business of. Jennezia's own foolish curiosity had overpowered her and she'd wandered that way, involving herself with the lonely forests and becoming... a loner. The title came with a feeling of dread on it's own but the feeling of responsibility was not nearly as subtle. She could never relax because she always felt like someone needed her. Like she was always desired somewhere and if she didn't make it, she'd be stripped of herself. The only notable thing she'd ever received.

She let out a twisted sigh, gazing into the complexity waiting before her in the dense woodland. A gentle breeze overwhelmed her nose, tangling briefly in its wet web. The ground was prickly, she realized. Not cushioned and lush, like a forest was expected to be. Not silk-laden or lined with beautiful flowers. In fact, the only flower she saw was a single weed, the color of her brother's blood. It was, of course, morbid, to think of it that way, but it was all Jennezia could see in the dully red, glistening petals. They folded over something in the center of the flower, and that was the extent of what was supposed to be pretty about it. Beneath it fell a stem of green and brown. It looked incredibly thorny and, all in all, dangerous. The needles stuck out randomly, eager to penetrate through the very flesh of anything that foolishly came its way. Why did flowers get publicity as beautiful? To Jennezia, it just looked threatening and, if anything more, average. It was not appealing in any way other than as the only thing living besides grass in the meadow. Sideways, she glanced down to the latticework of prickly weeds and continued walking. The uncomfortable ground would have to pass for now.

The days of wandering and thinking led her to many new discoveries. What it was like to camp out beside a tree trunk and have to eat dead rats that she knew were probably infested with disease, but was too hungry to really give a care either way. To have to go to sleep in pain, scratches on her malnourished hide that she couldn't take to the doctor to get fixed but hope that her weak knowledge in medicine would keep them uninfected. The ache of constant backstabbing of those she had, simply because there was no other way. Learning the sick truth of existence; there's only so much freedom a male or female could get in this hell called life, and to some it was only an illusion. And shaking off the eyes that gawked at the scars on her arms and legs wasn't easy for Jen. Keeping them off was even harder when every time she tried to be herself, it backfired on her. Which lead to more self-loathing, and then more scars.

It was the recurring image of her brother's death, though, that scarred her eyes with brilliant yet dulling contrast. When she saw everyday things -- the colour red, the prey that he'd liked to hunt -- she was bombarded with the same series of memory. The image of him as he was curled up in a pile of his own bodily fluid, his ankles cut and spurting blood and his fur glazed in pinkish paste. Jennezia had searched for words as she watched him, but nothing came. So she just kept staring, listening to his obnoxious, bloodcurdling screeches. In fact, she didn't say anything at all until he turned his head towards her, acknowledging her, and then telling her that there were more wolves nearby. Jen didn't bother to ask what had given him such clean but effective wounds -- she nodded and sprinted off in a general direction, trying to rid her mind of what she'd just witnessed. Her own brother's death. She hadn't even tried to assist him. So, in conclusion, she'd have given her place for her brother. Died so that she could be invisible; forever a sad an incomplete spirit roaming the forest. It would be better than the position she was in right now. Jennezia could barely speak straight in front of other wolves, much less kill one, she realized. But she might as well have, watching as her own kin struggled in a nameless trap on the floor of the forest, decorating the already ornamental leaves with the true colours of his suffering. She had watched as he shrieked with the magnitude of a thousand deaths but in one. Someone once asked her 'if a tree fell in the forest with no one around to hear it, would it make a sound?' The answer was yes, but under circumstances of selective hearing. Jennezia had chosen not the hear the uttermost skin-crawling of his series of screams.

She felt a chill move through her body, a visible tremble from her nose to her tail, as she was pulled back into a state of surprise when, in a blink of an eye, commotion erupted. The mere sight of a youthful female leaping into sight, a rather jovial mumble fleeing quietly from her maw. That was how she had entered the clearing and seen her brother. She wouldn't have first expected such a miserable sound from a little canine like her, but perhaps her ears were so familiarized with the quiet of her own self and her stressing mind that she had forgotten what happiness was like to the ear drum. She felt the surprise, utter shock as it took chunks from her usually natural tranquility and grace. It was difficult to shake off even with her most focused attempts to take the situation lightly. Her heart felt as though it had been injected with the iciness that filled her veins. Jennezia had hardly ever achieved that level of happiness in only too long. Days were filled with questionable exhaustion. She'd go to sleep and wake up as if she'd never gotten a wink of rest. But she smiled anyway, a small laugh, almost whispered laugh escaping her maw. At least she was able to experience the wonders of childhood while it lasted. The precious innocence that with time would soon wither away like every good thing that decided to make it's presence in this earth. But she supposed that was simply life making room for new wonders.

She trembled, half from anxiety, and the other from the soft, cool air of the sunless meadow. The faint, warm scent of canine touched her quivering snout at one point of her peaceful exploration on the outskirts of the dense woodland. But the girl hadn't turned around just yet. Curiosity had gotten the best of her, sending her into the depths of a situation, a scene that could end up where she took her last breath. The air also scented of vegetation and decomposing carcasses of animals that had gotten their strings unfortunately cut, the earthy redolence that clung to the stirring air, accompanying the one fragrance that struck panic inside the canine. She felt another soft breeze lap at her body as her gaze pried the area of any sign of the much awaited guest.

Jennezia parted her slender jaws to release three Brittle-brush stems from a gentle, careful grasp. The small blossoms were a vivid canary yellow and the leaves had serrated edges and were broader at the base than the tip of the weed. The face of the leaves were covered with a thick mat of short hairs, making it fuzzy to the touch and giving it a pale gray-green appearance. The herb was used for pain relieving if sprinkled on sores or injuries in a paste. The plant was very abundant over these parts of the meadow, however, regardless, it was important that Jennezia gather as much as he could before they were all wiped away from the nearing winter. She wasn't the pack healer anymore, but with only herself to care for in the first place, she had sort of found herself handling ever one of the jobs. As she nudged the herbs next to a bunch of Creosote leaves, she felt a shiver run down her spine. Winter was coming soon.

With its snow and disease, winter brought some good things. Jennezia enjoyed watching the animals that came with winter and the plants, too. The swirling pink camellias that mocked roses only in different, more opaque shades. She also loved holly, the solid red but prickly berries. They were inedible and otherwise useless, but she enjoyed observing them. And the mistletoe. This was not exactly a seasonal weed, but she did enjoy it in the winter. It was a bush, also round and prickly, that formed in the gaps of trees. Or anywhere. Mistletoe was not picky about where it formed. Some believed that it could be used for medicinal purposes, but as a former healer, Jennezia thought otherwise. She knew otherwise. It was poisonous. Mistletoe contained hazardous chemicals that could cause a variety of reactions, such as a slowed heartbeat or nausea. Nothing Jennezia wanted popping up in and killing off those around her (albeit: nobody). Grimly, she shuffled her paws in the grass and let out a sigh. Superstitions had to be that resulted in the most injuries. Seasonally, wolves tested theories without forethought and ended up getting themselves sick somehow; partly a reason of why she'd fled in the first place.

She felt like she was just out there, alone. Ten miles from town. Ten miles from anything. Ten miles from her happiness. Not that ten miles was that far, but that walking that far would require physical exertion and the energy or inspiration that Jennezia didn't have. So she was out there, alone, being encouraged to keep on going but holding her ground, regardless. Why was she like this, in a hopeless, lifeless stage of development? Her brother's death. It had been incredibly long since he had gone at this point, but she was still scarred and shaken. Responsibility was difficult for Jen because she was such an empty, boring frame of a wolf. She never understood why anyone would designate her with such an unfortunate fate as this one. She was nothing, her and her mind, but it was normal to judge oneself terribly hard. That's what she told herself, over and over again. But over and over again, she failed miserably and fell into a writhing pool of self pity, desire. She could write a list of things she wanted and needed but draw a blank to things she was enjoying in her life, but that was normal, too. She'd yet to learn to appreciate life as it was. What bothered her was the fact that she was an adult stuck in this corner of depression. A full grown wolf in need of a life who couldn't point out one good ting about herself.






Jennezia
Jennezia
Newcomer

Join date : 2014-02-15

RolePlay Information
Location: The Twisting Den

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The Twisting Den - Page 15 Empty Re: The Twisting Den

Post by Hurricane on Sun Feb 16, 2014 12:02 am

Hurricane lifted his head as a new, unfamiliar presence entered his territory (Jen). Rising to his paws, the male growled, unsure if she was a threat or not. He noticed she looked rather depressed in his eyes, so the Dingo was almost positive she wouldn't cause to much harm. Besides, there were several others to back him up if he needed any help. After a moments hesitation, Hurricane advanced towards the unknown female, eyes narrowed and posture semi-dominant, as he didn't want to seem to threatening.

"Hello there, I go by Hurricane. may I ask your name?" He inquired, cocking his head slightly. Studying her stance and expression, she actually seemed for from a threat in his eyes. But of course, you should never judge a book by its cover. Despite his better judgements, he let his guard down, mentally deciding this female was all right, and wouldn't cause him or the pack any harm.
Hurricane
Hurricane
Leader

Join date : 2013-05-15

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The Twisting Den - Page 15 Empty Re: The Twisting Den

Post by Jennezia on Sun Feb 16, 2014 10:37 am


Nessa






word count;; 1175




Although pain still coursed through her veins like lead, poisoning her mind and holding her down to the Earth like an anvil, Jennezia saw the commotion around her in quick flashes like a camera, slides put together to eventually equal something. She saw pictures of her brother, in his magnificent array of colour. She'd close her eyes to try and picture him after she'd seen him, to hold on to the image. She'd yearned to have him at her side with her, encouraging her and running through the woods in gleeful bliss like they once had, forever ago. It was foolish, as there were more important things on the table. Things like life and death being gambled for no reason by this monster who stalked them from behind, eyes on having someone or another dead. It was sadistic. Incredibly sadistic.

Always, Jennezia had been terrified of the maze of darkness, vines, and regret that was called the woodland -- the forest. Smack dab across the middle of the basic territory map was a giant slab of this bubbling woodland. There was something mysterious about that wood, Jen knew, even despite her lack of investigation there. Some untold tale, some tangy story that needed to be told but couldn't be. If that made sense. The world was full of grown children that would never learn to share or care about anyone but themselves, but why did that even matter anymore? There was an untold enmity in this land. A pseudo-civilization, mocking the collapsed failure of humanity. Carelessly, they'd used up their resources and made choices that ended up to be unrecoverable. They fell back, but have nobody to rope them back up. Anyway, everything that Jennezia had she counted as loss. Everything, a distraction. She was a full grown female, and where was she now? Roaming throughout the woods without a pinpointed destination, tripping in brambles, roots, and other things she didn't even question. Everything inside of her surrendered to the acute patterns that the forest had woven for her pleasure. Pleasure. As a good citizen, she was supposed to make others happy, when happiness wasn't anything but a concept. To help make herself stronger, she'd taught herself that emotions were weakness and none of them even existed; that feeling happiness, love, sadness, truth, and other similar stances of submission were all just mundane concepts to make wolves feel better about their actually pointless traumas.

How did she choose what to remember? There were emergencies, struggles, and she remembered those things detail for detail, but what about the thousands of simple, everyday occurrences that could be equally impacting and important? The thousands of reminders that every wolf accumulates? The food that you catch for breakfast. The words your friend uses to greet you in the morning. What you respond with. Your best friend's last name. These are the things she had no need for. Over time, her mind had rewired itself so that all this information fell away as soon as the next morning came.

Before she went off on a rant about responsibility, she caught herself. It was not a bad thing to be a part of such a quiet, fabulous empy life. All of her memories were here at the flick of a paw. There were all kinds of landscapes here, too. But what she really wanted was time with herself, alone. She'd worded it incorrectly, she knew, but she wanted time where she wasn't bogged down with work to do. Her own struggling soul wouldn't understand such a vacation, though. Or she wouldn't. Jennezia was Jennezia's responsibility. She winced, suddenly. The word kept echoing in her mind, torchering her, penetrating through her mental barrier. If she drove herself insane with this pointless stress, she'd be amused. But amusement was not what she needed. That variable was still unidentified. Jen paused, her mahogany fur bristling as she picked up a flower of lavender. It was supposed to calm her but, if anything, it put her more on edge. Over anything, Jennezia's greatest fear was losing her mind under any circumstances. She wanted her thoughts to be her's and she wanted to remember what was happening now sanely in the future. Lavender was one of the plants that intimidated her, as somehow it's sweet scents were supposed to evaporate through her nostrils and calm her. She couldn't help but wonder what the plant was actually hacking into withing her mind, what it was ruining, what it was stealing. That's why she spent so much alone time, though. Not because of the plant, of course. She exercised her mind, imagined things, though about things. Anything. She just wanted to keep herself.

She was filled with a huge, ironic sense of dread, then. Her head pounded and her limbs began to feel loose. She couldn't see straight anymore. Jennezia had to halt, stop and try to focus her vision forwards. It was strange. The last time she felt this foggy was right before her brother disappeared. Bile caught in the petite she-wolf's throat as she looked around quickly. She couldn't speak. Something was here, something was alarming her, putting her on edge. That was a logical conclusion, now. She kept looking around, trying to find this monster. Bear. Dread-monger. Whatever it was called. Whoever it was, she needed to find it before it found her.

She'd  never been a fan of being alone in the woods for as long as she could remember, Jennezia thought, passing over a moss-covered stump and a few specimens of fungus. Parents told their children to keep away from the dark forest to protect them from the monsters that lurked, while Jennezia currently had her life on the lines from one of those "monsters". She could've listened. She should've never run away from home with her brother and her father. She'd put two lives on the line and in the trash can; her own and her brother's. But what would any of them think when she was dead?  She didn't care if it would hurt or if she'd suffer or what she'd have to do. Death was in the delivery. But her family, they'd be ruined, if they weren't already. Scarred. Maybe. They were a perfectly sociable couple. They'd probably had new children in a snap of the fingers. Her legs trembled partially because of the thought and partially because of the bullets of dread, taking a fall with allegiance to the crashing in her mind. Death was necessary. Appropriate.

The rustling ahead increased and Jennezia came to a complete stop. Her heart ran in circles, crazed, and her mind spun just as effectively. What if she was attacked? Mauled over? She had nothing to live for, but all the same. She was terrified, petrified. What would she say to save herself, protect her privacy? She heard words, barely audible.

Hello there, I go by Hurricane. may I ask your name?

In a half second, she thought it over and replied without hesitation. "Jennezia," she spoke quietly, a smirk creeping across the pinches, hollow places decorating her jaw.

voice regular




Take some time to simmer down, keep your head down low

Jennezia
Jennezia
Newcomer

Join date : 2014-02-15

RolePlay Information
Location: The Twisting Den

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The Twisting Den - Page 15 Empty Re: The Twisting Den

Post by Skyfall on Tue Feb 18, 2014 2:26 pm

Skyfall watched Hurricane greet the newcomer. It seems like the pack is getting lots more members now. Taking one last drink of water, Skyfall went off to look for prey.
Skyfall
Skyfall
Jagter

Join date : 2013-11-25

RolePlay Information
Location:

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The Twisting Den - Page 15 Empty Re: The Twisting Den

Post by Hurricane on Tue Feb 18, 2014 9:15 pm

He watched as a smirk found it's way onto the female's jaw, and felt a small stab of doubt in his chest. "Jennezia, hmm?" He inquired, echoing her name. "Well Jennezia, it seems you've stumbled across pack territory. Of you wish to stay, you're welcome to, but if not, you better get a quick rest and leave, we've no time for lurkers." He said, keeping his tone calm, even though her sudden change of personality made the Dingo quite nervous. "Is there any particular reason you seemed to be in a hurry?" He asked, blocking her path of exot as he awaited an explination.

(So short, sorry Jen D: )
Hurricane
Hurricane
Leader

Join date : 2013-05-15

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The Twisting Den - Page 15 Empty Re: The Twisting Den

Post by Lucha on Sat Feb 22, 2014 1:56 pm

Lucha sat quietly by the den's entrance. Cold air blew against her fur every now and then, and it grew moist with water droplets.

'I'm old.'
She thought bluntly, staring out at the young members going about their daily business. The Maned Wolf huffed, and looked down at her bony legs. They weren't very muscular, as she wasn't feeding them, and hadn't been exercising due to aching bones. Lucha closed her eyes, and silently kept her head low. She curled her shriveled tail onto her flank.
Lucha
Lucha
Lead Consilium

Join date : 2013-08-08

http://wolflvr7373.deviantart.com/

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The Twisting Den - Page 15 Empty Re: The Twisting Den

Post by Pistol on Mon Feb 24, 2014 3:03 pm

WC: 1638
{Open for Approach}

There was no breeze. Here, by the parched, dry earth and the occasional scraggly excuse for a bush, it was boiling hot. The ground itself would be, to a foreigner, for one inexperienced and alone in these lands, too hot to walk on: the sun would roast his back, and the ever-present hum of the insects would threaten to drive him insane. There were no landmarks, and no noticeable features; there was just scrub, miles and miles of it until it stretched out into the distance and met the sun at the horizon. The sun, the plain - that was it, and that, a traveller could think, would be the only two things left in the world, which would far outlive any sort of apocalypse or doomsday: the sun and the plain, eternally there, eternally challenging anyone who ventured near to travel across it's surface and to risk their lives. There were no signs of life, no sign that anything living had ever ventured across the great plain of desolation and desperation: nothing, devoid of life. This was so, unless one knew what one was looking for.

Once more, a kaleidoscope of colour and pain burst behind the wolf's eyes. A shuddering breath came from cracked, black lips, and his frame shook with the effort of walking, exposing barely concealed ribs under the golden-brown fur speckled as it was with dried blood. The eyes, usually so alert and aware of their surroundings, did not stir: they were used to the pain, and just glazed over, becoming blank and unresponsive, clouded with pain and fatigue. A paw hovered, shaking, above the ground - as though deciding whether to make the step, to move and to possibly cause more pain to itself - before pushing down with unexpected determination, once more pushing the wolf forward - forever forward, forever moving at the same pace. It could not stop. It would not stop.

Pistol's whole body ached with agony, and every step took effort: he felt as though he had to drag his body through the bush. He didn't dare stop, though: if he did, he knew that he would never be able to complete his journey, for he would just collapse in a heap and never get up again. And besides, he wouldn't let himself do that - he had too much pride, too much hubris, to even let himself slow down for a moment. How could he, Pistol, fall into the trap of fatigue and cowardice? A lesser male would, but he was Pistol, and he would not let himself fall onto the ground in defeat. He would not let this place beat him. Despite the pain, he had to keep going, for no place would be worse than this one. Where was he even going? He had no idea - as long as it was away from this place, he didn't mind where he ended up, quite frankly. He didn't even know where he was: he had been booted out of the areas he had used to know by the young pack, the same pack which had given him the injuries he was struggling with now. Briefly, the male grew slow, turning his head to look at the gaping injury, which lay on his side, dried blood covering the epicentre of the wound. It had been inflicted by the pack's leader, a male who had, clearly, decided that just driving Pistol out of the territory was not enough. Knowing no herb knowledge whatsoever, he did what he could but had no way of stopping either infection or disease getting into the wound - who knew, he could be dead by tomorrow if he didn't get medical attention soon. If infection didn’t kill him, exhaustion, or perhaps pain itself would – he certainly knew that for sure. He couldn’t keep going for much longer, and he was aware that he’d have to stop, no matter what he thought about it, at some point or another. But until then....

Until then, he would have to keep going. He had to. He had no choice. Pistol tried to pick up his pace, and as he did so, his thoughts fell towards what had gone before. For of course, he had spent time travelling, but had not travelled forever: he had, once, once upon a time, had had a family, of sorts. The image of Sandy appeared in Pistol’s mind. Instantly, he tried to block it out – anything, to stop it in its tracks, to avoid reviving the memory of the mate he had once thought loved him. But he couldn’t: it was already going forth as strong as ever, and whatever Pistol did, even when moving quickly in an attempt to cause pain to distract himself, the image remained at the front of his mind, causing a low moan to pass his maw. What cruelty it was for him to think of her, now, of all wolves to think about, when he was at his weakest! Almost overcome with pain, Pistol tried to keep going, but he slowed once more, breathing heavily, his breathing ragged and sharp in his throat. The male found it hard to control his heartbeat, and, for the first time, he wondered if it would be easier to just fall onto the ground and to collapse: to just cease thinking about this any longer, and to just give into the pain and the agony. Wouldn't it be easier? Just to fall, and never have to get up again...to stop thinking about her, and to just be absorbed by the pain of his wound. He wouldn't have to worry about anything then: he could just quietly sink into unconsciousness, let his thoughts and memories pull him down into the murky depths, let dark cloud his vision....

However, some tiny chip of determination forced Pistol to carry on, to weakly drag himself forward step by step to wherever he was going. He didn't even care anymore: anywhere was better than this place, and maybe, just maybe, he even had a chance of finding a pack. This ideal had almost been forgotten by the male: he could hardly dare to think about it, unless it jinxed it somehow and turned his tiny chances of finding a pack against him. Did he even believe he would find one anymore? Out here, by himself, it was almost like an impossible thought, an impossible dream - a mere fantasy, woven by his own mind, his own thoughts. A fairy tale....

At this thought, the male weakly snorted - despite his condition, he found it amusing, somehow, that once upon a time he had had so many fantasies going around in his head - like a carousel, over and over and over, round and round and round - so many thoughts, so many ideals and hopes and joys and dreams.... even though Pistol was only five years old, somehow it seemed as though he had lived far longer, and had seen far more, than his mere five years upon this earth would allow. Half of his life was over. It was a sobering thought, that, or it should have been, at least: but, somehow, already on the verge of death, Pistol found it strangely - macabrely - amusing, half-mad and half-crazed from the torturing agony of his injury. A small rumble came deep from the bottom of his throat before coughing ensured, his ribs once more exposed, a thin layer of dirty, mud-splattered hide just about covering the white of bone. The five year old staggered, his limbs almost too weak to support the meagre lump of flesh and frame. Another stab of pain splashed red and green across his half-closed vision, and once more a dull, quiet moan of pain emerged from his dark lips.

As he did so, Pistol became aware of a strange scent on the air, one that lingered in what seemed like an invisible line across his path. If he had been more aware of his surroundings, he would have been aware, too, that the land around him had changed into a more ‘woody’ area, and that the scent of other wolves was near. But Pistol, greatly weakened and delirious with pain, staggered over it nonetheless, not even noticing the change in scent or change in surroundings. Why would he? The male had no reason to care: he didn’t even know where he was going, and he made no move to try and find notable landmarks or try to find his location. Why did it matter? Pistol’s brain was dulled by strain, only moving under the only command he had left in his mind: to keep moving, and to never stop. However, even he had to notice that the scent of wolves was becoming stronger and stronger: he noticed it, but it didn’t register until it was at it’s peak. Until he was looking out of the bushes and foliage towards the den site.

Somewhere, deep inside Pistol’s brain, there was a flicker of recognition. Pack. Home. Den. Safety. A spark had been lit, and it lay there, gently burning itself out until the male stumbled ungainly forward, a new burst of pain reminding that little flicker of recognition – which remained, unlike the spark, burning slowly – that his wound had opened again, and that blood was oozing down through his matted golden fur, a macabre and stark contrast from the original aureate pigment. As though noticing the flow of his lifeblood, Pistol tried to hurry up, to go faster, to find someone, someone who could help, someone he knew herbs – but then he fell to the ground, his legs giving up under him and folding like paper. The descent to the ground created a dull ringing inside his ears, and, as his vision began to flicker and to fade into black at the edges, a rattling sigh emerged from his muzzle. Pistol was not far off from death.


Last edited by Pistol on Mon Feb 24, 2014 4:08 pm; edited 1 time in total

Pistol
Newcomer

Join date : 2014-02-22

RolePlay Information
Location: The Twisting Den

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Post by Skyfall on Mon Feb 24, 2014 3:51 pm

Skyfall noticed that the pack is slowly increasing in numbers. Perhaps this is a good thing, for the pack needs more members. Hopefully the pack won't be too big to make the Mexican Gray uncomfortable. She is nervous around a lot of wolves she does not even know.
Skyfall
Skyfall
Jagter

Join date : 2013-11-25

RolePlay Information
Location:

http://www.wattpad.com/user/Kaylainy5

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Post by Fayanna on Mon Mar 03, 2014 3:05 pm

Fayanna pads into the cold cave, looking around. As a new member of the pack she really didn't know what to do...
Fayanna
Fayanna
Newcomer

Join date : 2014-02-05

RolePlay Information
Location: The Grubbin

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Post by Skyfall on Mon Mar 17, 2014 3:02 pm

Skyfall noticed another Mexican Gray (Fayanna). Almost at once she felt like she is not the only Mexican Gray living in the pack. Padding towards the she-wolf, Skyfall said "Hi. My name is Skyfall. What's your name?"


Last edited by Skyfall on Mon Apr 07, 2014 4:48 pm; edited 1 time in total
Skyfall
Skyfall
Jagter

Join date : 2013-11-25

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Location:

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Post by Thunter on Mon Mar 17, 2014 7:54 pm

Thunder awakening from a long slumber. Was noticing the large amount of members in the pack. Not sure what to think of the of it. But he supposed that it would be best. Though he couldn't help but think that this was somehow putting pressure on something, something that he couldn't quit put he's paw on.

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Post by Ken'ichi on Tue Mar 18, 2014 7:41 am

Ken'ichi slowly opened his amber coloured optics and looked around the area sleepily. He noticed several members in the territory like usual and peered up at the sky. He held back a groan of annoyance when he saw how late it was and sluggishly pushed himself up into a sitting position. His stomach was rumbling loudly and his mouth was parched. The Akita-Inu mix sighed and stood up fully. He then headed towards the nearby river to get a drink. He reached the cool water-source and hurriedly began to drink up the water until his thirst was quenched. He then sniffed the air for any kind of prey, but found no scent. He lowered his ears, and frowned in disappointment. Ken'ichi then walked back to his spot under a tree.
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Post by Thunter on Sat Mar 22, 2014 4:14 am

Thunter being paranoid of all the other pack members (since his uncomfortable first day) he notice all sorts of pack members wondering around seeing one that he didn't seem to remember not sure what to think,so he just let it be. Thunter spent most of his time sleeping on rock watching the other members enjoy there time. Wondering if anybody would ever come for a visit.

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Post by Bamboo on Sat Apr 05, 2014 12:31 pm

Bamboo had been resting with Radioactive throughout the day, when she suddenly felt the energy wake her up. She hadn't moved much, and wasn't sleepy. Sighing quietly, she lifted herself from the ground, and clumsily trudged over Radio and outside of their dent in the ground. The Anyana instinctively walked towards the Falls, and dipped her head into it to wash her face. She blinked the water away, then looked up with curious eyes at the sky.

Its late...
She decided, frowning slightly.
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Post by Thunter on Sat Apr 05, 2014 10:36 pm

Sitting in his cave alone Thunter decided that it was high time to go find something that would catch his interest.

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Post by Skyfall on Mon Apr 07, 2014 4:51 pm

Sensing that the Mexican Gray doesn't want to talk, Skyfall went inside a cave. There she saw another wolf (Thunter) who she hadn't met before. Who is this wolf?Skyfall thought.

Skyfall crept slowly to the wolf, unsure if he would snap if she came to him carelessly. "Hey."Skyfall said. "My name is Skyfall. What's yours?"
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Post by Thunter on Mon Apr 07, 2014 5:38 pm

Thunter looked around to hear the question and replied "Thunter, yours?".


Last edited by Thunter on Mon Apr 07, 2014 5:41 pm; edited 1 time in total (Reason for editing : typo)

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Post by Skyfall on Mon Apr 07, 2014 5:41 pm

Skyfall doesn't know why Thunter asked for her name even when she said what her name is before asking him his. "It's Skyfall. Sounds unusual, isn't it?"
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Post by Thunter on Mon Apr 07, 2014 5:43 pm

Being lost in his train of thought he didn't notice Skyfall told him her name, "no not at all, yours makes more since than mine, mines just a letter and hunter put together".

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Post by Skyfall on Mon Apr 07, 2014 5:45 pm

"My parents got creative with my name, as well as my siblings. My siblings and I are named after objects in the sky. It's a tradition back where I came from, before I came here in Australia." Skyfall said.
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Post by Thunter on Mon Apr 07, 2014 5:48 pm

"Interesting" Thunter started "my parents named me in simular way, accept I never really was a hunter though, I tried to hunt for the pack back I never got chance.

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Post by Skyfall on Mon Apr 07, 2014 5:50 pm

"Hunting often depends on the wolf. If a wolf is nimble, then the wolf is fit to chase after prey. In my old pack, males often are fighters while the females are required to hunt, since females are agiler than males and the males are more stronger than the females."
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Post by Thunter on Mon Apr 07, 2014 5:54 pm

"I've noticed that over the years in different packs, of course I was always dreaming big in my pack, but I guess I was a little bit over my head".

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Post by Skyfall on Mon Apr 07, 2014 5:56 pm

"Not all packs are big though."Skyfall pointed out. It's pretty clear that it's the truth, depending if Thunter looks at their pack and think it's pretty big, even though it's medium sized.
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