Categories > Original > Fantasy > Shadow of the Moon
Out on the rocks.
3 reviewsHis dreams of living out his life in peace where engulfed in the same flames that engulfed his village. The fires were no accident. They were caused by the bloodthirsty bandits who killed all who l...
1Original
ch. 2
a/n: I own Rosco and Romulus. Hehehe! I love saying Rosco for some reason.
feedback: yes please. sometimes it what keeps the writer going.
The sharp rocks tore into his already tenderized paw-pads, opening up the barely healed cuts and abrasions. The harsh sun above gave no quarter as its rays and heat battered his weakened and tired body. The wind offered no relief as its great gusts, which seemed like powerful mini-tornadoes, bashed him against the wickedly sharp rocks. He needed water. He had none for nearly a week; not since his water-bag was torn opened by the same rocks that tore at his paws.
What was supposed to be a simple journey turned into a nightmarish slow death. There was no help, any type of a civilization, or shelter from the harsh and unfeeling elements.
He was on his last legs. He could hardly walk much less stand on his unsteady legs. He was reduced to walking on all fours, but it was any faster. That's how tired he was. He couldn't lift up his head to try to see where he was going.
Romulus, the wolf/puma half-breed morph, kept his body moving through sheer will alone. But sheer will couldn't outlast his weary body. Soon his body couldn't take it any longer and he collapsed on to the jagged edged rocks. With a sharp whine of desperation, he tried to get up. His arms trembled under him and crumpled underneath his upper body weight. He lacked the energy to try again.
"Heh!" he panted against the rock his face laid on, "I survived a war, a plague, and a dark curse. Now I'm being brought down by the sun, the wind, and these rocks! This is not how I planned to go."
Completely drained, he closed his eyes against the inevitable. He knew he was going to die, but he would get some sleep before he goes. There was no telling what the gods had in store for him once he reached the other side.
== == = == == == === ==== ======
The wolf morph didn't know where he was going. He didn't really care. The dreams that kept him going were no longer achievable. So, he wandered.
After Rosco left the ruins of his village, he stopped at the hidden stream to wash and refill his water-bag. He cleansed his body and fur of the ash of his village, the blood, fur, and flesh of his enemies, and grit of hard travel. But he couldn't cleanse his soul, his spirit. His heart ached for the meaningless deaths of his beloved village.
"If I had only gotten there sooner!" he growled into his gauntlet covered hands, "Oh gods, I'm just trying to make sense of something that would have happened even if I was there! There are no ifs, couldas, or if only's. What was meant to be, will be."
Dragging his hands away from his eyes, he slowly stood up to continue his endless walk. He walked and walked until time had no meaning any more. Night turned into day. Day turned into night. It was an endless cycle.
Yet, some cycles were meant to be broken.
===++++=======+++++++======+++++++======++++++==
Rosco walked until he reached the mountain slope of Jagged Peaks. He knew that going down the rocky slope was the quickest way of getting down the mountain, but it wasn't the safest way. He looked over the edge with a hand shielding his eyes. His ice blue eyes widdened. He had saw something that should have not been there. It made no sense. All the rocks on northern side of mountain were dark gray or black. But there was something white and red with some type of light blue cloth waving in the breeze.
Knowing that he was going to have to make his way down, Rosco decided to make his way to whatever had caught his attention. Like the mountain born wolf he was, he ambled down the slope as nimble as a mountain goat. As he got closer and closer to the object, he saw it was another morph. It was laying face down on the jagged rocks, and he could barely tell that it was breathing. Once he reached the vulnerable and helpless morph, he knelt at its side.
From what he could tell by its ears and long tail, it was a puma morph. It was sleek like a cat, but it was a little off. From what he could see from its muscle mass, it was more bulky then a puma. Its fur was white except for the tips of its ears and the tuff of its tail. They were blood red. Rosco wanted to turn it over, but it was too dangerous on the rocks.
Lucky for him the other morph was slightly smaller then him. So doing the only thing he could do, Rosco eased an arm under the morph's torso and over its tail. Slowly he brought the morph to him and lifted until its head rested against his chest. Taking a quick glance down at its face he saw the blood red of a short mane almost like a tiger. Its muzzle was slightly longer then any cat morph he ever saw.
"Mix breed..." He murmured to himself, thinking out loud.
He finished picking up the puma-mix and braced it on his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Slowly, slightly bumbling from their combined weight, the wolf morph stood. Rosco stood for a moment getting use to the other's weight, before he made his way down the mountain slope. Nearing the bottom, his burden started to shift. So he rushed to the bottom, even thought it was reckless and dangerous to do. Yet, if he and his burden went tumbling it would have been even more dangerous.
Once at the bottom, Rosco knew he couldn't stop there. He had to reach a safe place that could offer shelter from the sun. The wolf morph headed to the little cave he had once explore when he was pup.
a/n: I own Rosco and Romulus. Hehehe! I love saying Rosco for some reason.
feedback: yes please. sometimes it what keeps the writer going.
The sharp rocks tore into his already tenderized paw-pads, opening up the barely healed cuts and abrasions. The harsh sun above gave no quarter as its rays and heat battered his weakened and tired body. The wind offered no relief as its great gusts, which seemed like powerful mini-tornadoes, bashed him against the wickedly sharp rocks. He needed water. He had none for nearly a week; not since his water-bag was torn opened by the same rocks that tore at his paws.
What was supposed to be a simple journey turned into a nightmarish slow death. There was no help, any type of a civilization, or shelter from the harsh and unfeeling elements.
He was on his last legs. He could hardly walk much less stand on his unsteady legs. He was reduced to walking on all fours, but it was any faster. That's how tired he was. He couldn't lift up his head to try to see where he was going.
Romulus, the wolf/puma half-breed morph, kept his body moving through sheer will alone. But sheer will couldn't outlast his weary body. Soon his body couldn't take it any longer and he collapsed on to the jagged edged rocks. With a sharp whine of desperation, he tried to get up. His arms trembled under him and crumpled underneath his upper body weight. He lacked the energy to try again.
"Heh!" he panted against the rock his face laid on, "I survived a war, a plague, and a dark curse. Now I'm being brought down by the sun, the wind, and these rocks! This is not how I planned to go."
Completely drained, he closed his eyes against the inevitable. He knew he was going to die, but he would get some sleep before he goes. There was no telling what the gods had in store for him once he reached the other side.
== == = == == == === ==== ======
The wolf morph didn't know where he was going. He didn't really care. The dreams that kept him going were no longer achievable. So, he wandered.
After Rosco left the ruins of his village, he stopped at the hidden stream to wash and refill his water-bag. He cleansed his body and fur of the ash of his village, the blood, fur, and flesh of his enemies, and grit of hard travel. But he couldn't cleanse his soul, his spirit. His heart ached for the meaningless deaths of his beloved village.
"If I had only gotten there sooner!" he growled into his gauntlet covered hands, "Oh gods, I'm just trying to make sense of something that would have happened even if I was there! There are no ifs, couldas, or if only's. What was meant to be, will be."
Dragging his hands away from his eyes, he slowly stood up to continue his endless walk. He walked and walked until time had no meaning any more. Night turned into day. Day turned into night. It was an endless cycle.
Yet, some cycles were meant to be broken.
===++++=======+++++++======+++++++======++++++==
Rosco walked until he reached the mountain slope of Jagged Peaks. He knew that going down the rocky slope was the quickest way of getting down the mountain, but it wasn't the safest way. He looked over the edge with a hand shielding his eyes. His ice blue eyes widdened. He had saw something that should have not been there. It made no sense. All the rocks on northern side of mountain were dark gray or black. But there was something white and red with some type of light blue cloth waving in the breeze.
Knowing that he was going to have to make his way down, Rosco decided to make his way to whatever had caught his attention. Like the mountain born wolf he was, he ambled down the slope as nimble as a mountain goat. As he got closer and closer to the object, he saw it was another morph. It was laying face down on the jagged rocks, and he could barely tell that it was breathing. Once he reached the vulnerable and helpless morph, he knelt at its side.
From what he could tell by its ears and long tail, it was a puma morph. It was sleek like a cat, but it was a little off. From what he could see from its muscle mass, it was more bulky then a puma. Its fur was white except for the tips of its ears and the tuff of its tail. They were blood red. Rosco wanted to turn it over, but it was too dangerous on the rocks.
Lucky for him the other morph was slightly smaller then him. So doing the only thing he could do, Rosco eased an arm under the morph's torso and over its tail. Slowly he brought the morph to him and lifted until its head rested against his chest. Taking a quick glance down at its face he saw the blood red of a short mane almost like a tiger. Its muzzle was slightly longer then any cat morph he ever saw.
"Mix breed..." He murmured to himself, thinking out loud.
He finished picking up the puma-mix and braced it on his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Slowly, slightly bumbling from their combined weight, the wolf morph stood. Rosco stood for a moment getting use to the other's weight, before he made his way down the mountain slope. Nearing the bottom, his burden started to shift. So he rushed to the bottom, even thought it was reckless and dangerous to do. Yet, if he and his burden went tumbling it would have been even more dangerous.
Once at the bottom, Rosco knew he couldn't stop there. He had to reach a safe place that could offer shelter from the sun. The wolf morph headed to the little cave he had once explore when he was pup.
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