Post by Galieo on Apr 20, 2006 15:28:51 GMT -5
The wind howled in the caverns of the high lands, echoing in various pitches throughout the mountain tops and keeping every creature watchful and alert as the storm brewed. With its shrieks and wails it brought the smell of frigid rains and the scents from across the lands, sending them through the air in a chaotic pattern that may have passed off as a sporadic form of dance. Dark bottomed clouds rolled in as the time passed, bringing with it a few minor patches of sprinkling rain, falling to the ground and giving the impression of liquid ice. It was always like this, it seemed now, upon the high land territories of the whitebacks. Bad weather, every inhabitant on the watch and ready to make a run for shelter, and always so isolated.
Galieo hated it. But then again, it was a common feeling from the male... The best impression any seemed to get from him, was that he hated everything, or that he just no longer cared. In a sense, both were true. Outwardly, the Delta simply no longer seemed interested in anything his life put before him, he appeared bored, too accepting of what life dealt him. Inwardly, however, this was not the case at all. Galieo was a Whiteback by nature, and upbringing, and it had soaked deep into his being, along with a deep and bitter hatred for their territory, and most everything that made up the world.
Galieo only had two loves... One of them was his authority, his ranking. He was silently proud of his ability to earn such a title, and even more proud of his ability to keep it, which leads to his one true love in life; fighting. If there was a fight anywhere nearby, it was certain that the Delta would be there to spectate, if he were not in it in the first place. It was the one opportunity where the male seemed approachable, yet even more deadly than usual on behalf of his utter and poorly-contained pleasure in watching fangs flash and blood spill.
For the moment, much to Galieo's silent disappointment, there were no fights. The poor weather had discouraged such activity as most pack members had bunkered down to seek out a place of shelter should the weather take an even larger turn for the worse. This left the delta out among the slopes on his own to sit in silence and stare out at the horizon, watching as the darker clouds from beyond rolled in, bringing with them more rain and the bone-shattering clap of thunder.
In a way, the environment was mimicking the current state of the Delta's mind. Within his already riddle-like thoughts were even more jumbled than usual as he pondered over the different signs the land was showing. The seasons were changing yet again, and always Galieo could swear he smelled blood upon the air, and not of their quarreling brethren. It was the distinct smell of blood spilled in warfare, and with each day it grew stronger, more invading. It seemed he was the only one able to give the sensation a definable, tangible form, but many others seemed to sense its presence as well. Times of war were growing more and more probably, more imminent for the Whitebacks now. It was only a matter of time, and as always, Galieo was weighing the different possibilities and consequences.
Galieo hated it. But then again, it was a common feeling from the male... The best impression any seemed to get from him, was that he hated everything, or that he just no longer cared. In a sense, both were true. Outwardly, the Delta simply no longer seemed interested in anything his life put before him, he appeared bored, too accepting of what life dealt him. Inwardly, however, this was not the case at all. Galieo was a Whiteback by nature, and upbringing, and it had soaked deep into his being, along with a deep and bitter hatred for their territory, and most everything that made up the world.
Galieo only had two loves... One of them was his authority, his ranking. He was silently proud of his ability to earn such a title, and even more proud of his ability to keep it, which leads to his one true love in life; fighting. If there was a fight anywhere nearby, it was certain that the Delta would be there to spectate, if he were not in it in the first place. It was the one opportunity where the male seemed approachable, yet even more deadly than usual on behalf of his utter and poorly-contained pleasure in watching fangs flash and blood spill.
For the moment, much to Galieo's silent disappointment, there were no fights. The poor weather had discouraged such activity as most pack members had bunkered down to seek out a place of shelter should the weather take an even larger turn for the worse. This left the delta out among the slopes on his own to sit in silence and stare out at the horizon, watching as the darker clouds from beyond rolled in, bringing with them more rain and the bone-shattering clap of thunder.
In a way, the environment was mimicking the current state of the Delta's mind. Within his already riddle-like thoughts were even more jumbled than usual as he pondered over the different signs the land was showing. The seasons were changing yet again, and always Galieo could swear he smelled blood upon the air, and not of their quarreling brethren. It was the distinct smell of blood spilled in warfare, and with each day it grew stronger, more invading. It seemed he was the only one able to give the sensation a definable, tangible form, but many others seemed to sense its presence as well. Times of war were growing more and more probably, more imminent for the Whitebacks now. It was only a matter of time, and as always, Galieo was weighing the different possibilities and consequences.
