Chasing the Dawn;;{O}

[{F O R E V E R}]

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[atrb=background,http://i48.tinypic.com/2cdeurb.gif] Often the solitary one Finds grace for himself The mercy of the Lord Although he, sorry-hearted, Must for a long time Move by hand Along the waterways It was true, words so clear ever spoken in other dialects melded to the English tongue, that one must find grace for thy self and not others. That by the mercy of a deity salvations could be bestowed – deity not simply being the otherworldly individuals residing on High, but the mortal gods who dictated their realms with harrowing perseverance. To mold, to shape those of the noncommittal lifestyles, by ones own strength and charisma, into toned believers of a faith instilled by one or two leading the congregation. Yet not all found such solace in the idealistic ways of the wolf, generations of instinct crippling the sense of true independence with the ubiquitous desire for companionship, of a unified front against all oppositions no matter how slight it may be. Wraith was no exception to such a decorum, now berated and duty bound to serve the legions of the Renegade empire in whatever manner they deemed necessary. Yet and still the female of blue-black coloring was not attending to the topography where she was presumed to lay her life, a trek beyond the sheltering copse. Her mind, frequently haggard with cryptic memorandums, was at ease in the spring dawn that deployed a gentle mist to shroud her path. In the weeks since her arrival to these Isles she had come to find herself plagued, afflicted with constant spiritual tumult that had only just abated to the far off cornerstone of her psyche. It was a relief more than welcome to her but an odd, unsettling sort of reprieve to be sure. Admittedly, she resented the consistent nagging of communications between herself, a medium and scripter to the dead, and the spirits of the land but it had been an innate ability that had always been present in her thoughts. With them gone, she felt abandoned, bereft and alone without much to occupy her tine with aside from the rudimentary tasks that vagrants committed to. Cognizant and respectful she treaded softly, as if fearful of disturbing those that slumbered beneath the blankets of melting snow. Her paws struck with an itch that refused all other remedies to soothe their urges so to appease them she walked, a sashay brought upon due to wanderlust and lack of mental occupations had steered her through other territories to here, the chilled islets. But what could she possibly do here? Surely, she didn’t fancy a swim and later a case of hypothermia. A romp in the slush would be expending energy unnecessarily and lying along the snow-besieged beach was not an attractive option either. So to what end did she need to be here? Rolling her eyes quizzically along the coast, lapped at repeatedly with corrosive salt-infused tides that smelled of brine and dawn – neither odor complimenting its other in the least. Wraith wrinkled her nose, expression bordering offended as her nostrils were flooded with the natural perfume. Turning away, she moved about, listless strides carrying her frame as her thoughts echoed upon events that were more distant yet to play out. An ear to the loam had never hurt and she’d pressed for the story the Earth meant to tell. A feud was brewing, not a surprising element but interesting nonetheless, between packs and their leaders, resistances’ and their debased renegades storming the shores to claim and sire their views. All of whom assumed that their viewpoints were the legitimate and best for those of this region. To the wolf with the rune-sketching twisting up her front limbs, this was but another impracticable, specious case of manifest destiny. And would they force the masses to heel or would they permit them to gradually come under wing? None could be sure; dictators of every flavor were different in the standard aspect. With another sigh the wolf slowed her pace, a canter nor trot held long before she came to a perfect stop and gazed outward with a void idiom. This land, like so many others, was at war. The victors were as clear as the mist pooling about the dawn. ---------------------------- Words;; 787 Tagged;; --- Lyrics;; --- Notes;; ---