Post by Blackfeathr on Feb 21, 2009 23:16:53 GMT -5
The cold midwinter weather did not deter this old dog, ambling in the unknown territory with a slight limp. This was the deepest he went in the region since he retired from the crew. He hoped to perhaps find some sustenance, since the humans were starting to get keen to his ways. Age was wearing away at his skills, he couldn't see as much, and his old bones would not let him move as fluidly as he had done before in times long washed away.
As he continued to traverse in these lands a familar scent tinged the back of his nose. It was the scent of wolves, the wild canines that were the sworn enemies of his crews. The wolves disliked them for their barbaric ways, and their actions imitating that of humans.
But this hate needed to die with his old ways. Perhaps wolves weren't so bad after all. He would see. This seemed to be an expansive pack, perhaps they would take a beaten down dog in as their own.
Maybe it was just the old wives tales he'd been fed by his crew that wolves were savage cannibals, but the scents of these wolves made him uneasy. A lot of these scents of the scouts and passersby were thickly covered in fresh blood.
Of course, they hunt and kill, and drink the blood of the fallen prey, he concluded, continuing his limping gait deeper into this unknown pack.
Something was not right here. He rarely caught prey for himself, preferring stealing over anything else, but he knew the bloodscent of lesser beast. This was not blood of deer, rabbit, or any prey animal he knew. This... was dog blood. He could taste it in the back of his throat, growing stronger as he had ambled deeper into the center of the packlands. He stopped dead in his tracks. Warning bells were going off in his head. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He knew that something was going to happen to him if he stayed in here one more second.
Turning on a heel, he ran heavily, but as fast as his joints allowed him, his sights set on that border, still so far, so far away.
As he continued to traverse in these lands a familar scent tinged the back of his nose. It was the scent of wolves, the wild canines that were the sworn enemies of his crews. The wolves disliked them for their barbaric ways, and their actions imitating that of humans.
But this hate needed to die with his old ways. Perhaps wolves weren't so bad after all. He would see. This seemed to be an expansive pack, perhaps they would take a beaten down dog in as their own.
Maybe it was just the old wives tales he'd been fed by his crew that wolves were savage cannibals, but the scents of these wolves made him uneasy. A lot of these scents of the scouts and passersby were thickly covered in fresh blood.
Of course, they hunt and kill, and drink the blood of the fallen prey, he concluded, continuing his limping gait deeper into this unknown pack.
Something was not right here. He rarely caught prey for himself, preferring stealing over anything else, but he knew the bloodscent of lesser beast. This was not blood of deer, rabbit, or any prey animal he knew. This... was dog blood. He could taste it in the back of his throat, growing stronger as he had ambled deeper into the center of the packlands. He stopped dead in his tracks. Warning bells were going off in his head. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He knew that something was going to happen to him if he stayed in here one more second.
Turning on a heel, he ran heavily, but as fast as his joints allowed him, his sights set on that border, still so far, so far away.
