Hidden Beauty (Tagged)

[emorli]

L

Baal;


The chill in the air that's produced by the winter season being pulled from its spotlight, only to be replaced by the blooming flowers and running streams of spring. With every small breeze, a chill runs up the towering male's spine. The cold air pushes past the shorter spots of his pelt, giving those spots a slight numb feeling.

Being on the mountains also didn't help much in protecting him from any type of cold air that still remains from the winter as well as the night before, the time being early morning. The particular area that Baal currently stands still in, the Barrens, is void of almost any sign of life. Every now and then, he spots a dead looking piece of brush, but other than that, rocks of various sizes scatter his range of vision, anything past that is hidden in the fog that's only appeared before the equally foggy-pelted male's eyes early in the morning.

The cold temperature that takes over his body doesn't stop him from sitting in the middle of the Barrens, simply enjoying the scenery, or, rather, lack thereof. Something about the solitude of the territory is peaceful, giving him time to think about anything that's been hidden in the back of his mind and pushed away to be forgotten by any recent events. It opens a new space in his mind and he's almost able to feel his consciousness thanking him for the break it's finally gotten after meeting so many new faces in such a short period of time.

The atmosphere is almost so silent that it's screeching at him to do something, anything. to end the dead silence, every now and then the breeze whistling past giving in to what the space around him is dying for - noise. However, the male did not give in to the pressure so easily, silence, in his mind, was not something that needed to be filled, but rather enjoyed for what it's worth. And this is exactly what he'll do now, throwing any temptation to make the area not so quiet away where it's lost into oblivion.

The large wolf's eyes close, and he lets out a soft breath. He sits quietly in his place and he simply fills his mind with things he's never gotten a chance to think about before. For instance, he's never gotten to think about his favorite color or what his favorite area in the valley is, but other than those inconsequential thoughts, he's able to think about every one of the wolves he's encountered so far, and of the ones he's heard about, but not yet been able to meet in person yet.

No matter the thought, he's intrigued by what he comes up with as an answer. And despite enjoying the silence every once in a while, he can definitely see how a wolf could go crazy in this if it was constant. The solitude, lack of movement and life of the Barens, and the complete silence (except for the wind passing every now and then), it's all very extreme in its own way. The presence of others is something to be grateful of, at least in Baal's case.

With one last deep breath, he opens his eyes, the sky getting brighter as the time passes, allowing the sun to pull its self higher into the sky, pushing the fog away from where it stood stagnant for most of his time in the area. The dull-greyness of the early morning begins to disappear with the fog, being replaced by a bright blue sky that surprisingly can't seem to light up the dullness of the Barens.

[L]

Ilana Valdís

I have heard my praises sung in screams.

It was sunrise, and Ilana was awake.

How many years had it been? How many days? How many agonising seconds of fighting, breathing, living, for each new gasp of air and life? And did she truly want to know the extent of time that had passed; the excruciating beat and tick and thump her unwilling heart made inside her breast?

It had been a long time since she had walked this part of the valley. The memory haunted her like an open secret; there, and then slipping away from the tips of her paws, from the carefully sharpened white claws she constantly walked around with. Ilana drew a lazy paw up to her muzzle, gingerly cleaning the muddied nails that glimmered with dew. Dew that had coalesced onto the grasses in the midst of the night, settling there until the sun rose and they would evaporate into nothingness.

Do you miss me? She thought, idly toying with the sharpened nails. She wished she was by her mother's grave again under the unblinking stare of the midnight moon, accompanied by nothing but the wind and her sorrows. Ilana recalled her mother's shuddering body; the way she had barely moved at their insistent calls and touches. "I’ll mourn you later, when we’re done sorting out what mess we’ve gotten ourselves into now." But would she, she wondered. Would the tears ever come?

Ilana raised a dark paw to her face. It came away dry.

She was sunning on a flat rock, raised above the ground. It was early in the morning; the sun coloured the sky in hues of fire, and its rays seemed to catch on her newly-shed coat and set it ablaze. The already-bright reds seemed now to glow in its light, as if every movement of her angular frame would send new ripples of flame shooting down her sides. The darkened stripes seemed to contain her fire, fur tussled by an invisible wind that always seemed to trail in her wake. Her face seemed burnt, the deepset white eyes glittering viciously against her blackened visage.

Ilana was beautiful and she knew it. Beautiful in a predatory, sharp way, her allure edged with danger, unassuming as a knife's glinting edge.

She stretched, pulling the muscles taut and relaxing them. She was shrouded in the fog atop her rock, her piercing eyes emerging from the gloom - the first thing anyone noticed about her. Not her simple stature, not the way her ears barely seemed to reach a large wolf's shoulders, nor the slender, cutting way about her. No, they never noticed, and it was always their undoing.

But who was she to complain?

By now she was walking - a lazy stroll - through the Barrens, ears casually swivelling to catch the sounds of other wolves on the wind. The wind was her only friend - constant, unpredictable, loyal - Ilana was almost one with it, as if she could dissolve into the wind at any time and gust away. She'd no magic, but she'd become so attuned to the whims of it that she was almost always certain of when it would change, and how.

And the wind was changing. The scent of a wolf, male, drifted on it, past her. Her ears lifted in interest, but her face was carefully neutral, as if she was slipping on a mask and suddenly was Ilana no longer. And she kept walking, for as long as the wind blew down towards her, as long as she walked against it, she would be led to the source of the scent.

And if she didn't - well - she wasn't complaining.

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