October 05, 2017, 12:00:34 PM
The wolf really had no idea where she was going to go now, that she had found herself out of the dark and back into the light that was Alteron. But Alteron was not really a light, no was it? It was still a dark, shadow place that others often feared to tread. Kokipa did not find anything familiar to her, besides the den she had left when she had disappeared. She did not sense Ackid or Kiakime, or any of the wolves that she had known when she had been a lonely serf then Sentry of the woods. In a way, Kokipa just wanted to find the two wolves who had influenced her the most. But she had yet to find them and she did not hold out hope that they would remember the black wraith with the rose eyes. If anything, the lack of finding them had hurt her more than the possibility of finding them did. But she did not hold any hope to not finding them either. There was always a chance she could stumble upon them.
But the wolf had taken up her old ways, wondering around the lands with some aimless intent. She was a ghost, something of the past that had no real say in the future pack of Alteron. It had changed so much, gone were the tyrants of old and in where the tyrants of new, though different in the political manner in which they shifted. Like snakes. The black wraith could speak in their tounges but she really had no heart for doing such a thing. She was just a old creature of habit, one who wondered and watched and didn't speak. Even now her voice was raspy as ever, like a crone who hadn't spoken in centuries. She was a skinny rail who slipped beneath the trees and bushes. She watched with bright eyes that countered her dark pelt. She was a wanderer now, a wolf who had no real thing to do.
And maybe there were others who wondered too.
But the wolf had taken up her old ways, wondering around the lands with some aimless intent. She was a ghost, something of the past that had no real say in the future pack of Alteron. It had changed so much, gone were the tyrants of old and in where the tyrants of new, though different in the political manner in which they shifted. Like snakes. The black wraith could speak in their tounges but she really had no heart for doing such a thing. She was just a old creature of habit, one who wondered and watched and didn't speak. Even now her voice was raspy as ever, like a crone who hadn't spoken in centuries. She was a skinny rail who slipped beneath the trees and bushes. She watched with bright eyes that countered her dark pelt. She was a wanderer now, a wolf who had no real thing to do.
And maybe there were others who wondered too.