Post by Deleted on Feb 20, 2007 23:20:30 GMT -6
Everything lay cold and blue, the muffling blanket of snow coating the meadow in a docile manner, muting each noise and movement. The soft keening moan of distant wind echoed eerily throughout the twilit terrain, haunted by shades of the past. Phantoms walked this land, they said, and the moon held the key to what element tempted you. There were equal parts evil and good, but the influence of each depended on the strength of your heart. Most never even glimpsed those elusive spirits, while some experienced the touch of the ethereal. Skö wasn't particularly interested in either one. Because of this disinclination to contact those fated figures, he had made doubly sure to wander near the Hageshii Shizukesa when the moon was torn in two. Half-moon. The moonwhite figure would have blended neatly with the various snowdrifts but for the light dusting of copper that tinted his thick fur. Splayed paws supported his thickset form, though he was not in anyway fat. It was nearly pure muscle beneath the obcuring pelt, toned by hunting and constant activity. His eyes glanced furtively about his surroundings, darting in a panicked way, though his demeanor was enitrely calm. The light gray corneas were flat, unexpressive, with minature sunbursts of bronze. Skö's glance was directed skywards for half a second; it had begun to snow lightly, the flakes huge and round, like pieces of cloud. His head shook furiously as some began to collect on his head, left ear clinking with three iron hoops. A paw lifted out of the soft whiteness, taking him a stp forward, the rest of his limbs following obediantly. The entire landscape was dyed in hues of deep indgo and gray, the shadowed places a soft velvet black. His path was directed towards the towering tree, crooked limbs glowing softly against the dim sky. Intricate patterns marred the tree's rough bark, edged deeply into the surface. The two hues clashed and collided, making his vision blurr, head pounding as he tried to make out the figures. Eventually the wolf gave up, returning his attention to the sky, succumbing to momentary adolescence by sticking out a wide pink tongue and catching a few of the snowflakes. A small grin decorated his monotonous features as he settled in the shadow of the sacred tree.