The sweltering heat bore down from the neon-like sun as she moved through the fields letting her hands wander through the TickleMush strands and CornBlossom sheathes, thick grass stands obscuring her view across the wide expanse of greenery that unfolded, eventually, into a rugged terrain, before drifting off into the outskirts of Rhy'Din.
The return here was unexpected, and drifting thoughts haunted her as she moved onwards, the occassional Thornthicket clawing at her skirt and tearing at her knees, but she still smiled and breathed in the fresh itchy air, filled with the trends of butterflies, flies, bees, BuzzWons and dragonflies-her favourite. She spied a few and smiled, but soon her thoughts moved elsewhere...to memory.
Fires had lashed out, hunting their way in skeletal fiery forms of red and orange, embers scavanging the dirt and brush for all the Garou that were left. She had lay paralyzed beneath a fallen apart wagon, the wood aching and creaking the closer the fire came, as though it too were stunted, and wishing to be gone as much as inanimate fate would have it. But it stayed in place and she clutched the spare plots of grass beneath her, plucking the dry creases of brown and grey as she sobbed uncontrollably, wishing to stop her cries and move, but the fear of the Spiritflame was too much-when a Rift collapses its echoes tell through time, and she knew that if anyone had a chance, she did. She was not stuck inside one of the huts, one of the stagecoaches or caravans-she still had room to move, even if the Flame could pick up her wolven scent.
And in a moment, as all kids bare, where they make a solemn promise to Live, she moves and carries on into the dark where the smoke rises towards the seemingly hollow shell of a moon above-dim and not a guide this night. She scurried, hearing the eerie ching of metal posts and empty huts and tents flap in the breeze, and the tears came again-hot salty seas trickling from those grey eyes that reflected all the death, decay and destruction they caught with each glance she took. And she stood there, again frozen, as she sawthe pillaged forms of her friends-the Harlequins they were bent backwards over themselves, stakes fluid through their chests and stomachs, torn apart cavaties and what hurst most, is that their laughter would not echo once more. Only in her mind, to reverberate, against the calls of the lost, scared and hungry, the dying the confused the fighting-and fusing such thoughts she moved on, barefoot, bruised and filled with a queer feeling she could not pinpoint, and nigh contain-she felt her heart plummet into her stomach and rise back up, forcing her mind to keep those knees bending and those feet hitting the ground. Too much had been lost, she had to rectify this, or at least, save herself. She was not the last of her kind, she doubted that, but she knew then, at nine years old, that she was the last of her kind that she Knew....
Haunted, Haelene's eyes closed as she halted at the ridge, before letting her gaze sweep the ravine and the glory of Rhy'Din below. She had to prepare for this..one breath at a time, and let memory come, then go, as she saw a future that she would make merry. Opening her eyes she let All meander through her, pain and joy both, and then as she came to her knees, and the moon this night shone, she felt again like that child, and finding the Wolf inside, she let go a long mournful cry, from the pit of her being, the center of her heart, and as she did, so too did the Wolves in the forest, a lonesome chorus, against the night, and against all pain...She was ready to embrace.
Stepping down she made her way towards Rhy'Din, the swill of her deep auburn waves washing about her in the breeze, and she felt wonderfully refreshed. She opened her arms and gathered the night to her, as Rhy'Din town grew closer, and the outskirts recded past her.
The return here was unexpected, and drifting thoughts haunted her as she moved onwards, the occassional Thornthicket clawing at her skirt and tearing at her knees, but she still smiled and breathed in the fresh itchy air, filled with the trends of butterflies, flies, bees, BuzzWons and dragonflies-her favourite. She spied a few and smiled, but soon her thoughts moved elsewhere...to memory.
Fires had lashed out, hunting their way in skeletal fiery forms of red and orange, embers scavanging the dirt and brush for all the Garou that were left. She had lay paralyzed beneath a fallen apart wagon, the wood aching and creaking the closer the fire came, as though it too were stunted, and wishing to be gone as much as inanimate fate would have it. But it stayed in place and she clutched the spare plots of grass beneath her, plucking the dry creases of brown and grey as she sobbed uncontrollably, wishing to stop her cries and move, but the fear of the Spiritflame was too much-when a Rift collapses its echoes tell through time, and she knew that if anyone had a chance, she did. She was not stuck inside one of the huts, one of the stagecoaches or caravans-she still had room to move, even if the Flame could pick up her wolven scent.
And in a moment, as all kids bare, where they make a solemn promise to Live, she moves and carries on into the dark where the smoke rises towards the seemingly hollow shell of a moon above-dim and not a guide this night. She scurried, hearing the eerie ching of metal posts and empty huts and tents flap in the breeze, and the tears came again-hot salty seas trickling from those grey eyes that reflected all the death, decay and destruction they caught with each glance she took. And she stood there, again frozen, as she sawthe pillaged forms of her friends-the Harlequins they were bent backwards over themselves, stakes fluid through their chests and stomachs, torn apart cavaties and what hurst most, is that their laughter would not echo once more. Only in her mind, to reverberate, against the calls of the lost, scared and hungry, the dying the confused the fighting-and fusing such thoughts she moved on, barefoot, bruised and filled with a queer feeling she could not pinpoint, and nigh contain-she felt her heart plummet into her stomach and rise back up, forcing her mind to keep those knees bending and those feet hitting the ground. Too much had been lost, she had to rectify this, or at least, save herself. She was not the last of her kind, she doubted that, but she knew then, at nine years old, that she was the last of her kind that she Knew....
Haunted, Haelene's eyes closed as she halted at the ridge, before letting her gaze sweep the ravine and the glory of Rhy'Din below. She had to prepare for this..one breath at a time, and let memory come, then go, as she saw a future that she would make merry. Opening her eyes she let All meander through her, pain and joy both, and then as she came to her knees, and the moon this night shone, she felt again like that child, and finding the Wolf inside, she let go a long mournful cry, from the pit of her being, the center of her heart, and as she did, so too did the Wolves in the forest, a lonesome chorus, against the night, and against all pain...She was ready to embrace.
Stepping down she made her way towards Rhy'Din, the swill of her deep auburn waves washing about her in the breeze, and she felt wonderfully refreshed. She opened her arms and gathered the night to her, as Rhy'Din town grew closer, and the outskirts recded past her.