Post by grebo on Aug 14, 2007 11:36:25 GMT -5
Grebo left his discussion with Nightblood and Karolek with just the tiniest bit of excitement, although he'd never admit it. Here was a new beginning for him, and he was going to make it work. He was going to work his way up in rank, maybe to a warrior or an assassin, and Sallin would fear him and his pack.
He walked a little way away from them, taking in the new smells, sights and sounds. It was getting dark and he could hear an eagle owl hooting in the depths of the forest. Something's exciting him, he thought. The next paw he put foreword got wet, and he looked down. A small pool of ice-cold meltwater had collected in a hollow in the ground. There was no grass in the hollow, and some of the salts from the soil had dissolved in the water making its freezing point much lower than the surrounding snow. Grebo lowered his head and drank from it, his dark pink tongue flicking out of his mouth, contrasting with the night-blue water and the yellow of his eyes. He was a little thirsty after his journey and being accepted. All that frustrating business of subtle gestures and ettiquette made him want a drink.
The pool gone, he shook himself firmly from head to tail, his gleaming coat fluffing up and then laying itself down smoothly, reflecting the whiteness of the moonlit snow. He stretched then, digging his claws into the cold earth, and drew himself up to his full height. He would explore a little faster now. What was he doing walking anyway? He never walked. Walking never got anyone anywhere. it made wolves fat and lazy. He sprang forward into a fast lope, pulling himself onwards with his powerful shoulders and kicking up snow and mud behind him. He made a mental note of the lay of the land as he passed it.
He walked a little way away from them, taking in the new smells, sights and sounds. It was getting dark and he could hear an eagle owl hooting in the depths of the forest. Something's exciting him, he thought. The next paw he put foreword got wet, and he looked down. A small pool of ice-cold meltwater had collected in a hollow in the ground. There was no grass in the hollow, and some of the salts from the soil had dissolved in the water making its freezing point much lower than the surrounding snow. Grebo lowered his head and drank from it, his dark pink tongue flicking out of his mouth, contrasting with the night-blue water and the yellow of his eyes. He was a little thirsty after his journey and being accepted. All that frustrating business of subtle gestures and ettiquette made him want a drink.
The pool gone, he shook himself firmly from head to tail, his gleaming coat fluffing up and then laying itself down smoothly, reflecting the whiteness of the moonlit snow. He stretched then, digging his claws into the cold earth, and drew himself up to his full height. He would explore a little faster now. What was he doing walking anyway? He never walked. Walking never got anyone anywhere. it made wolves fat and lazy. He sprang forward into a fast lope, pulling himself onwards with his powerful shoulders and kicking up snow and mud behind him. He made a mental note of the lay of the land as he passed it.
