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Post by [[ Sabre-chan ]] on Feb 23, 2006 8:15:40 GMT -5
ooc:// Um... I'm going to put Rhythm's first, followed by Rhayen's. Thanks. ^^;
||Rhythm||
There is rhythm in everything. The seasons, the gurgling of the stream, even in the incessant tapping of the small woodpecker. And there was rhythm in Rhythm. She did things methodically. Every day was like it had been thought out, oh-so-carefully, in her brain, and she played it out well. Wake up, neaten her fur, have a drink – all these came naturally. But the other things, like scratching seven lines in the ground, were built into her brain like a well-used alarm clock. Superstitious and shy, she took all precautions when she ran into others. Don't walk behind black cats... And all that jazz. She was born into a superstitious family, one that believed in 'birth-direction'. (Ever read the book “East”?) She was a north-born, wild and adventurous. Her placid sister, Aurora, was an east-bairn, patient and hardy. And her brother, Kindan. A true west-born, always counting rocks and deer and... just about everything. Rhythm's mother worried about her, ever-suspicious of other wolves and animals that came too close to her brood. So when the gentle, kind mother died, everyone heaved a sad sigh of relief. “Never again shall we have to stay away from others,” announced Rhythm, seconded and thirded by Aurora and Kindan. They had run wild for three days, before realizing that, yes, Mother does know best. With a sigh, the young wolves relented and went to find their uncle, who had promised to take good care of them while their mother was gone and their father was away. That was Rhythm's history. Now the mahogany wolf slept, heart beating rhythmically. Rhythm. (done)
||Rhayen||
The smells of others were intriguing. His stomach rumbled He hadn't eaten in days. No matter. He settled down in the darkness, long metal claws making long dents in the ground. How he hated them, the long metal blades that were inserted by the two-legged. He was captured a year ago and tranquilized, in which time they removed his claws and left in their place the metal horrors. They were supreme in self-defense, but shamed him as a two-legged's test subject. He was separated from the others forever, a beast with unnatural weapons and a heavy heart. Other than that, the two-leggeds had captured him for strength and his features, aiming to make him into a war animal. One to fight with hounds, and shame their owners. He shielded his eyes from the evil lengths of metal, for though they had won him many battles, they were not of the earth and wolven flesh. They were horrible, made him look fearsome and scary. He snuck around in the shadows a lot for fear of being found out and killed by other wolves. So he hunted alone, lived alone. He never really knew what it was like to love, for he bore hatred in him for the metallic claws that gleamed evilly, like two eyes of the Evil One known as the mountain lion. He was calm, strong-willed and slightly stubborn. His slate-grey pelt contrasted with the shining metal of the steel. A white ruff sort of surrounded the base of his neck, like an apron of sorts. His paws were large and his legs like pillars, stout and hardy, made for the hardest of times. His name was Rhayen, named after Raye, his mother, the supposed 'Goddess of the Wolven Hunt' which referred to her supreme hunting skills. He himself was nothing special... or so he thought. Never did he know that in his mother's eyes, he was always her idol, her object of praise and affection. (done)
||Rhythm||
There is rhythm in everything. The seasons, the gurgling of the stream, even in the incessant tapping of the small woodpecker. And there was rhythm in Rhythm. She did things methodically. Every day was like it had been thought out, oh-so-carefully, in her brain, and she played it out well. Wake up, neaten her fur, have a drink – all these came naturally. But the other things, like scratching seven lines in the ground, were built into her brain like a well-used alarm clock. Superstitious and shy, she took all precautions when she ran into others. Don't walk behind black cats... And all that jazz. She was born into a superstitious family, one that believed in 'birth-direction'. (Ever read the book “East”?) She was a north-born, wild and adventurous. Her placid sister, Aurora, was an east-bairn, patient and hardy. And her brother, Kindan. A true west-born, always counting rocks and deer and... just about everything. Rhythm's mother worried about her, ever-suspicious of other wolves and animals that came too close to her brood. So when the gentle, kind mother died, everyone heaved a sad sigh of relief. “Never again shall we have to stay away from others,” announced Rhythm, seconded and thirded by Aurora and Kindan. They had run wild for three days, before realizing that, yes, Mother does know best. With a sigh, the young wolves relented and went to find their uncle, who had promised to take good care of them while their mother was gone and their father was away. That was Rhythm's history. Now the mahogany wolf slept, heart beating rhythmically. Rhythm. (done)
||Rhayen||
The smells of others were intriguing. His stomach rumbled He hadn't eaten in days. No matter. He settled down in the darkness, long metal claws making long dents in the ground. How he hated them, the long metal blades that were inserted by the two-legged. He was captured a year ago and tranquilized, in which time they removed his claws and left in their place the metal horrors. They were supreme in self-defense, but shamed him as a two-legged's test subject. He was separated from the others forever, a beast with unnatural weapons and a heavy heart. Other than that, the two-leggeds had captured him for strength and his features, aiming to make him into a war animal. One to fight with hounds, and shame their owners. He shielded his eyes from the evil lengths of metal, for though they had won him many battles, they were not of the earth and wolven flesh. They were horrible, made him look fearsome and scary. He snuck around in the shadows a lot for fear of being found out and killed by other wolves. So he hunted alone, lived alone. He never really knew what it was like to love, for he bore hatred in him for the metallic claws that gleamed evilly, like two eyes of the Evil One known as the mountain lion. He was calm, strong-willed and slightly stubborn. His slate-grey pelt contrasted with the shining metal of the steel. A white ruff sort of surrounded the base of his neck, like an apron of sorts. His paws were large and his legs like pillars, stout and hardy, made for the hardest of times. His name was Rhayen, named after Raye, his mother, the supposed 'Goddess of the Wolven Hunt' which referred to her supreme hunting skills. He himself was nothing special... or so he thought. Never did he know that in his mother's eyes, he was always her idol, her object of praise and affection. (done)
