mojo
02-12-2008, 06:02 PM
The Forsaken One
A quiet breeze rustles through the woods, carrying the distant howl of wolves. The sun has long ago set.
The moon casts eerie reflections upon the uppermost boughs, ghostly light filters down to the forest floor,
illuminating the passage of a lone hunter. He moves slowly, gliding through the tangled foliage without a sound.
The breeze blows gently against his face as he moves upwind of his prey.
He sniffs the air and cocks an ear, one foot raised, tail down.
He stands dormant now, stone cast in silvery contemplation, waiting.
Subtle movement catches his indomitable gaze and he reacts, eager for the kill.
No need for silence now, hunger drives his body violently through the brush upon an unsuspecting doe.
Tearing, slavering jaws search for and find an unprotected jugular, clamping, rending.
Sweet life flows from one to the other, staining fur and forest floor.
Thrashing limbs slowly subside then cease and are lowered reverently to the ground.
He feeds, though never taking his eyes from the surrounding greenery, ears pricked.
Soon he is sated, though loathe to leave the carcass, he waits, and offers up silent thanks for what he has received.
Sound and scent reach his ears, the pack is coming near.
He remembers the pain, the scars of his departure lay heavy upon his skin, and his soul, and he utters a mournful cry before sliding silently away.
Exiled.
Alone.
A quiet breeze rustles through the woods, carrying the nearby howl of wolves answering their forsaken brother. The sun begins to rise.
A quiet breeze rustles through the woods, carrying the distant howl of wolves. The sun has long ago set.
The moon casts eerie reflections upon the uppermost boughs, ghostly light filters down to the forest floor,
illuminating the passage of a lone hunter. He moves slowly, gliding through the tangled foliage without a sound.
The breeze blows gently against his face as he moves upwind of his prey.
He sniffs the air and cocks an ear, one foot raised, tail down.
He stands dormant now, stone cast in silvery contemplation, waiting.
Subtle movement catches his indomitable gaze and he reacts, eager for the kill.
No need for silence now, hunger drives his body violently through the brush upon an unsuspecting doe.
Tearing, slavering jaws search for and find an unprotected jugular, clamping, rending.
Sweet life flows from one to the other, staining fur and forest floor.
Thrashing limbs slowly subside then cease and are lowered reverently to the ground.
He feeds, though never taking his eyes from the surrounding greenery, ears pricked.
Soon he is sated, though loathe to leave the carcass, he waits, and offers up silent thanks for what he has received.
Sound and scent reach his ears, the pack is coming near.
He remembers the pain, the scars of his departure lay heavy upon his skin, and his soul, and he utters a mournful cry before sliding silently away.
Exiled.
Alone.
A quiet breeze rustles through the woods, carrying the nearby howl of wolves answering their forsaken brother. The sun begins to rise.