Life, the reels of a film that seemed never ending almost all but flashed before his eyes and then nothing. A deep, seeping darkness that collected even in the darkest spaces of one's mind until finally... a light.
To follow the light could mean many things but it's fate was so knotted with death that it was often seen as a negative. Truthfully, it could mean freedom from troubles, hope that you were past the worst of it. Even if it did mean death, surely it was too late to really decide your fate by ignoring it. Perhaps that was why folks often spoke of wandering spirits. Perhaps they were holding onto the belief that if they stayed away from the light, they would awaken from the nothingness; the darkness.
Never one to pass up an opportunity, the silverback approached it. And while it seemed to stay 100 paces in front of him, there came a time where he felt something. A breeze. Cold and icy like that of the north, but a feeling that wasn't nothing. Almost as soon as he felt it, did the light come closer. Beginning to loom until finally it all went black.
Had the light lied?
No.
With a loud, strangled gasp the brute's eyes opened with great speed and awareness. He winced then, struggling to adjust to the brightness of the sun glaring straight into his vision. God, did his body ache. Feelings he hadn't felt in so long ran him over like a herd of bison. Battered and bruised did he feel, so winded that even the smallest breath burnt his trembling lungs, Draven couldn't imagine what happened. He half expected to hear the nattering whimpers of Kneph coming to his aid, or the soothing voice of Witchhazel as she told him not to move too suddenly.
Nil.
Nothing came but the whistles of the wind and... the hollow calls of ice? He recognised the sound of frozen water as well as anybody but it wasn't something he envisioned as pleasing to the ear. Draven slowly turned his body onto the find his feet slipping when trying to find a grip. His eyes opened then, met with the sight that scared the sire almost as much as the flames of hell he'd risen from once. Water was not on his list of awesome things and to be atop a sheet of ice he didn't know the density of made his already weak stomach plummet.
"Easy does it..." he uttered with his gravelly timbre, dinner plate paws beginning to take a wide stance upon the ice. The silverback hesitated to rise but for longevity, thought it best he did. If only he could see the edge of this blasted lake. His eye only saw fog and he could not tell top from tail in it. Neither north nor south, and certainly no end to this blasted sheet of ice. All he had to do... was to stay calm.
Yep. It was time to be as cool as a cucumber in the hot summers sun.
To follow the light could mean many things but it's fate was so knotted with death that it was often seen as a negative. Truthfully, it could mean freedom from troubles, hope that you were past the worst of it. Even if it did mean death, surely it was too late to really decide your fate by ignoring it. Perhaps that was why folks often spoke of wandering spirits. Perhaps they were holding onto the belief that if they stayed away from the light, they would awaken from the nothingness; the darkness.
Never one to pass up an opportunity, the silverback approached it. And while it seemed to stay 100 paces in front of him, there came a time where he felt something. A breeze. Cold and icy like that of the north, but a feeling that wasn't nothing. Almost as soon as he felt it, did the light come closer. Beginning to loom until finally it all went black.
Had the light lied?
No.
With a loud, strangled gasp the brute's eyes opened with great speed and awareness. He winced then, struggling to adjust to the brightness of the sun glaring straight into his vision. God, did his body ache. Feelings he hadn't felt in so long ran him over like a herd of bison. Battered and bruised did he feel, so winded that even the smallest breath burnt his trembling lungs, Draven couldn't imagine what happened. He half expected to hear the nattering whimpers of Kneph coming to his aid, or the soothing voice of Witchhazel as she told him not to move too suddenly.
Nil.
Nothing came but the whistles of the wind and... the hollow calls of ice? He recognised the sound of frozen water as well as anybody but it wasn't something he envisioned as pleasing to the ear. Draven slowly turned his body onto the find his feet slipping when trying to find a grip. His eyes opened then, met with the sight that scared the sire almost as much as the flames of hell he'd risen from once. Water was not on his list of awesome things and to be atop a sheet of ice he didn't know the density of made his already weak stomach plummet.
"Easy does it..." he uttered with his gravelly timbre, dinner plate paws beginning to take a wide stance upon the ice. The silverback hesitated to rise but for longevity, thought it best he did. If only he could see the edge of this blasted lake. His eye only saw fog and he could not tell top from tail in it. Neither north nor south, and certainly no end to this blasted sheet of ice. All he had to do... was to stay calm.
Yep. It was time to be as cool as a cucumber in the hot summers sun.
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