Life Is But A Dream...
Mad men define what mad is
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Post by fleabittengray on Apr 16, 2024 6:35:43 GMT -7
FENRIR
"I see a grey gloom on the horizon That promises a powerful sun to rise"
Fenrir could still taste the smoke as he limped his way toward the closest Helkaer land from Oinaze, from where he'd been at the time of the fire. Sinheim was not home to him, he had never met Harlan, but he had been friend and ally to Sly and he was hoping that Harlan would welcome him. His legs held the majority of the burns; though they were minor, they still stung, and his lungs felt charred from the smoke he'd inhaled. His throat ached, but he was alive. He wondered of the fates of the other herd members. Of Sly herself. He did not have any information, had been patrolling a far norther border of Oinaze when he'd smelled the smoke. He'd not realized what had started it, but had assumed it must have been Sly, and if Sly was setting fire to her own home... that meant trouble. He did what any loyal herd member would do - he began to run toward the smell of fire and ashes, but what he'd seen as he approached was horrid. He had barely enough time to turn tail and run as the flames began to engulf the land he'd called home. There was no other choice but to flee. But even he, mighty as he was, could not outrun the wild flames. They began to spread rapidly, licking at his lower legs, singing the hairs and burning the skin. Smoke filled his lungs and Fenrir had wondered, for a moment, if this was how he would die.
Ignoring the severity of the pain, he'd charged back the way he'd come, crossing the border and doing his best to escape the flames. If he were a praying man, he would have prayed for guidance or help from whatever Underworld entity might be listening. Instead, he let the adrenaline lead him until he'd been forced to slow from the pain. By the time he neared the border of Sinheim, he was wheezing, the bitter taste of smoke on his tongue. He was walking now, as quickly as he could, wheezing and panting and coughing from the lingering effects of the smoke. His wolf-like eyes were intently scanning the terrain for any sign of Harlan or other herd members - either from Sinheim or from Oinaze - but he saw no one. Nothing.
Tipping his muzzle up slightly, he let out a hoarse cry, a summon for the Helkaer mare. It was his duty to let her know what had happened. Or, at least, what he knew. There had been a fire, most likely set by Sly herself, and he had very narrowly escaped. His legs burned and he could feel the ache along his burns. He dared not look to see how bad his injuries were. Not yet. The most important thing right now was alerting Harlan and Nemesis to the fire.
[Tagged: illɘgal w/ Harlan + open] [Words: 477] [Character: Fenrir] [Notes: Here's my boy from Oinaze!] [Timeline: 9 years, early spring, after Oinaze burns, Fenrir has received minor to moderate burns mainly along his legs] "Speech"
"To melt away all moons It will make the old fires of purification Look like dying embers"
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