Post by Ahiga on Jun 18, 2011 4:39:26 GMT -5
This is what happens when I have insomnia and the desire to rp. 
I'm not sure if this is the right board since there's no one in the scene other than my character, so please feel free to move it if needed! Consider it a monologue and not something that needs to be replied to.
He is surrounded by life. Everywhere his inquisitive eyes land, there is life. In the grass. In the skies. In his very self. It pulses like the rhythm of a drum, gradually accelerating, lifting in intensity, threatening to burst from him and all that is around him. From the birds the flit to and fro, tending to their hatchlings. From the gurgling creek that dances and winds to places beyond, and even it cannot seem to contain its joy, for at times the glistening surface explodes with the acrobatic leap of a fish.
Ahiga can’t get enough of this intoxicating feeling. Waking each day here, where everything is good, is a blessing he takes advantage of at every moment. These Ute lands, though he’s only seen a small fraction of them, are a utopia. The greenness, the warmth, the faces that he’s met. It’s a type of world he’s never known. A world that consists of others. A world of…sameness. Stability. And the thought of these things, and the faces of his friends that have painted themselves on a once blank canvas of a memory, has caused him to be lost in a temporary reverie. The youth rolls down the grassy hill that serves as a densite for the pack. He /still/ won’t go there, but playing around the densite has been a permission that’s been granted, and thus his excess energy is spent tumbling down, down, down.
His laughter is loud as he watches the world tumble around itself, though soon his eyes are squeezed shut, unable to take the topsy-turvy view. Finally reaching the grassy bottom, he comes to a rolling stop upon his back, paws flailed and laughter still ringing dominant as he pries his eyes open, greeted with the sight of a clear blue sky.
But there is something missing in this utopia of a world, and it proves to be a looming grey cloud that casts a shadow upon his every sunny day. And now, as he rolls over onto his stomach upon the sea of clover, the edge of the packlands he’s stumbled upon, that grey cloud thunders and multiplies itself, subduing his usually chipper mood. Shaking his head, freeing his ears of random blades of grass that’s stuck to them, he rises onto his paws and meanders forward, ears gradually pressing forward.
“Ma?”
There is not a scent of her. Not here. Not anywhere here. But maybe back where he is supposed to be waiting? But that seemed so long ago and far away, that place. And was he not told to come here if the wait became too long? His brows lower in to a youthfully thoughtful look as the field of clover swallows him. But through the foliage of green and purple summer blossoms, his eyes are on the horizon. To the unknown place that he knows his mother must be.
But his almost mechanical walk through the clover lawn comes to an abrupt stop, and a breath of air is snorted out in confusion as his eyes shift left and right, as if searching for the invisible thing that’s stopped him from his hypnotized journey. A scent. A strong scent. One he doesn’t know, but one he’s scented all around these lands. A dominant musk that stops here, but why should that matter to him? Scents never had. The only one that matters is one he hasn’t scented for days. Weeks now. Where is she?
Grief washes over him suddenly, for though these lands are beautiful and the wolves both kind and fun, this is not his home. They are not his family, and the only family he’s ever known has suddenly disappeared off the face of the entire world, leaving him alone in this sea of friendly faces of strangers. It’s an anguish he’s never known, and it fills him so wholly that his body feels weighed by it. Aquamarine eyes well, blurring his vision as his head bows. He wants his mother. He wants to share all this goodness with her and play with her and hear her sing her evening song. He wants her to meet Asku and Ikuna and Tala and Wachiwa so she can understand why they must stay here together in this lush land of plenty.
The howl that erupts from his small chest is anything but impressive in comparison to the fully grown wolf’s, but it does have depth. Levels of anger, sorrow, and happiness strung into one soulful sound that flows from his muzzle on its own will. His head tips up and eyes close as he howls his youthful feelings for all to hear and interpret in their own way. It ends in a hiccupped yip and sniff and his head bows again, listening to the silence that answers him.
But no. Not silence. There’s a sound, though it’s not coming from the unmarked territory. Ears perking, he turns around, hearing the cry of another wolf, and then another in the distance somewhere in the heart of the Ute lands. They answered, whoever they are, and the sound of their voices fills him with something close to hope. He takes a step, though pauses, glancing back to the expanse of land in which the she wolf may be. He waits, ears perked, poised and ready to absorb any sound that may echo. Any whisper. Any sign. But there’s nothing but the gurgle of the stream, and somewhat reluctantly, the young boy turns back and retraces his steps further into Ute, heading back up the hill, following the sound of the howls.
I'm not sure if this is the right board since there's no one in the scene other than my character, so please feel free to move it if needed! Consider it a monologue and not something that needs to be replied to.He is surrounded by life. Everywhere his inquisitive eyes land, there is life. In the grass. In the skies. In his very self. It pulses like the rhythm of a drum, gradually accelerating, lifting in intensity, threatening to burst from him and all that is around him. From the birds the flit to and fro, tending to their hatchlings. From the gurgling creek that dances and winds to places beyond, and even it cannot seem to contain its joy, for at times the glistening surface explodes with the acrobatic leap of a fish.
Ahiga can’t get enough of this intoxicating feeling. Waking each day here, where everything is good, is a blessing he takes advantage of at every moment. These Ute lands, though he’s only seen a small fraction of them, are a utopia. The greenness, the warmth, the faces that he’s met. It’s a type of world he’s never known. A world that consists of others. A world of…sameness. Stability. And the thought of these things, and the faces of his friends that have painted themselves on a once blank canvas of a memory, has caused him to be lost in a temporary reverie. The youth rolls down the grassy hill that serves as a densite for the pack. He /still/ won’t go there, but playing around the densite has been a permission that’s been granted, and thus his excess energy is spent tumbling down, down, down.
His laughter is loud as he watches the world tumble around itself, though soon his eyes are squeezed shut, unable to take the topsy-turvy view. Finally reaching the grassy bottom, he comes to a rolling stop upon his back, paws flailed and laughter still ringing dominant as he pries his eyes open, greeted with the sight of a clear blue sky.
But there is something missing in this utopia of a world, and it proves to be a looming grey cloud that casts a shadow upon his every sunny day. And now, as he rolls over onto his stomach upon the sea of clover, the edge of the packlands he’s stumbled upon, that grey cloud thunders and multiplies itself, subduing his usually chipper mood. Shaking his head, freeing his ears of random blades of grass that’s stuck to them, he rises onto his paws and meanders forward, ears gradually pressing forward.
“Ma?”
There is not a scent of her. Not here. Not anywhere here. But maybe back where he is supposed to be waiting? But that seemed so long ago and far away, that place. And was he not told to come here if the wait became too long? His brows lower in to a youthfully thoughtful look as the field of clover swallows him. But through the foliage of green and purple summer blossoms, his eyes are on the horizon. To the unknown place that he knows his mother must be.
But his almost mechanical walk through the clover lawn comes to an abrupt stop, and a breath of air is snorted out in confusion as his eyes shift left and right, as if searching for the invisible thing that’s stopped him from his hypnotized journey. A scent. A strong scent. One he doesn’t know, but one he’s scented all around these lands. A dominant musk that stops here, but why should that matter to him? Scents never had. The only one that matters is one he hasn’t scented for days. Weeks now. Where is she?
Grief washes over him suddenly, for though these lands are beautiful and the wolves both kind and fun, this is not his home. They are not his family, and the only family he’s ever known has suddenly disappeared off the face of the entire world, leaving him alone in this sea of friendly faces of strangers. It’s an anguish he’s never known, and it fills him so wholly that his body feels weighed by it. Aquamarine eyes well, blurring his vision as his head bows. He wants his mother. He wants to share all this goodness with her and play with her and hear her sing her evening song. He wants her to meet Asku and Ikuna and Tala and Wachiwa so she can understand why they must stay here together in this lush land of plenty.
The howl that erupts from his small chest is anything but impressive in comparison to the fully grown wolf’s, but it does have depth. Levels of anger, sorrow, and happiness strung into one soulful sound that flows from his muzzle on its own will. His head tips up and eyes close as he howls his youthful feelings for all to hear and interpret in their own way. It ends in a hiccupped yip and sniff and his head bows again, listening to the silence that answers him.
But no. Not silence. There’s a sound, though it’s not coming from the unmarked territory. Ears perking, he turns around, hearing the cry of another wolf, and then another in the distance somewhere in the heart of the Ute lands. They answered, whoever they are, and the sound of their voices fills him with something close to hope. He takes a step, though pauses, glancing back to the expanse of land in which the she wolf may be. He waits, ears perked, poised and ready to absorb any sound that may echo. Any whisper. Any sign. But there’s nothing but the gurgle of the stream, and somewhat reluctantly, the young boy turns back and retraces his steps further into Ute, heading back up the hill, following the sound of the howls.