Post by marigo on Jul 6, 2010 13:53:12 GMT -5
It was quiet and cold. Two of the things she hated the most. It was simply fate that brought her to this: sitting alone on the shore of a spring, staring down at her reflection in the water. The slender face, the large, stunningly blue eyes, the snow-white fur and the black left ear. Marigo sighed and lay down, folding her wings against her sides. Having no memory of her past, she had no idea what to do now. She wanted someone to talk to, someone to play with. Even though she was one year old, she still loved to play. However, not many winged wolves were around here, she had noticed. She missed flying up and trying to catch each others’ tails. No matter that, she just wanted a friend, anyone that could put some sort of sound in the air, someone that could offer her some kind of warmth. She didn’t even care if they were nice, as long as they were there.
The light wind rippled the water, and Marigo reached a tentative black paw out and dipped it in the spring, feeling the cold between her claws. She gave a soft sigh and sat up, shaking out her fur to try and warm herself. The water provided some warmth, but she didn’t want to get wet. She paced across the shore, whining softly. She was getting distressed: she didn’t remember anything of her past, she didn’t know where her pack was or if she even had one, and she was simply begging to whatever powerful being would listen that they send her a friend. She was lonely, and she wasn’t used to being lonely.
Heart Springs was a beautiful place, but it just seemed too abandoned, despite all the birds and everything else. A protesting growl in her belly reminded her she needed food, but there was only one problem: she was awful at hunting. She had taken down only a couple animals, all of them small, weak and sick. Marigo found it shameful that she had to follow other wolves for their pickings, but it was the only way she could survive, and surviving right now was of the utmost importance.
Marigo guessed that no one would come. No one ever came to her. She was beginning to wonder if there was something about her that made her unapproachable. It seemed unbelievable to her; she wasn’t threatening in any way, she was friendly, and whenever she saw another wolf, she was always submissive. She didn’t understand why no one would talk to her?
Her blue eyes caught the sight of her wings, and she stared at them a moment. Maybe it was her wings? There weren’t many winged wolves around. Perhaps it was because they had been shunned from society? Marigo began to worry if her wings were a curse instead of a gift, as she had thought for her entire life. She spread her wings out and twisted her head around to look at them. Her nose touched the delicate feathers, and she wondered if it was better just to rip her own wings off. She nibbled at the skin beneath the feathers, whined softly as it stung, and then she folded them down again. Pondering whether or not she should find a way to get rid of her wings, she turned to look further out into the north, where the snow started.
Slowly, she tilted her head back and let out a slow, long, mournful howl.
“Come save me,” It sang.
The light wind rippled the water, and Marigo reached a tentative black paw out and dipped it in the spring, feeling the cold between her claws. She gave a soft sigh and sat up, shaking out her fur to try and warm herself. The water provided some warmth, but she didn’t want to get wet. She paced across the shore, whining softly. She was getting distressed: she didn’t remember anything of her past, she didn’t know where her pack was or if she even had one, and she was simply begging to whatever powerful being would listen that they send her a friend. She was lonely, and she wasn’t used to being lonely.
Heart Springs was a beautiful place, but it just seemed too abandoned, despite all the birds and everything else. A protesting growl in her belly reminded her she needed food, but there was only one problem: she was awful at hunting. She had taken down only a couple animals, all of them small, weak and sick. Marigo found it shameful that she had to follow other wolves for their pickings, but it was the only way she could survive, and surviving right now was of the utmost importance.
Marigo guessed that no one would come. No one ever came to her. She was beginning to wonder if there was something about her that made her unapproachable. It seemed unbelievable to her; she wasn’t threatening in any way, she was friendly, and whenever she saw another wolf, she was always submissive. She didn’t understand why no one would talk to her?
Her blue eyes caught the sight of her wings, and she stared at them a moment. Maybe it was her wings? There weren’t many winged wolves around. Perhaps it was because they had been shunned from society? Marigo began to worry if her wings were a curse instead of a gift, as she had thought for her entire life. She spread her wings out and twisted her head around to look at them. Her nose touched the delicate feathers, and she wondered if it was better just to rip her own wings off. She nibbled at the skin beneath the feathers, whined softly as it stung, and then she folded them down again. Pondering whether or not she should find a way to get rid of her wings, she turned to look further out into the north, where the snow started.
Slowly, she tilted her head back and let out a slow, long, mournful howl.
“Come save me,” It sang.