fallen temple of the fog
ooc: Hiii. Everybody's welcome, but three people max, and one spot is reserved for Taataataa, if she still wants it. =D
The morning was crystal clear and sharp. Every beautiful detail on the dark trees could be seen, every dew shrouded blade of grass, every twitch of an insect or scurry of a rodent. The raven alpha lay in the grass, her head down on her paws. Two brilliant orbs focused forward, the pinprick of a pupil dialating and shrinking as she took the movement in, watching it with the intensity and grace only a predator could possess. Not a muscle in her body moved; she was as still and silent as a stone was. Her breath was so slight it did not bend so much as a blade of grass before her nose. In the early morning cool, the shadow wolf watched her ghosts dart and play, unnoticed by everything else around them.
They walked right over rodents that did not so much as twitch, and barrelled past insects that did not even alter their flying course. The golden eyed one took its friend by the scruff and tossed it down. The blue eyed ghost tumbled and rolled, through a tree, before landing on its feet and charging the golden eyed one. They knew she was there, and she was well aware of their presence. Her ghosts had appeared when she'd woken, but Stormy had not desired to play, and only wished to watch them play. They understood that as though she had said it, and both set to immediately romping and playing. She had not been awake more than a half hour; the early morning was still periwinkle and spoke more of night than of day. For once in her life, a decent night's sleep had come to her without a struggle, and the dark wolf felt only serenity at this good sleep.
The ghosts whirled around in a madman's circle, spiraling in and out of each other's translucent bodies. Their beauty was unimaginable; both of them were as together and one as any hunting team Stormy had ever seen. Neither had any interest in bloodshed or viciousness; they were peaceful and kind. To her, at least. She didn't even know if anyone else could even see them. It was strange, their revalation to her. She had never seen the dead before, but she knew that her father had once been able to see ghosts and spirits before. They had been at a kill, feasting away. It was a good kill; the pack had brought down a sturdy elk while Stormy watched. She had always been trusted to stay alone, and that had given her independence later on. Amacui had taken the final killing blow, and Atzi had actually seen the ghost rise from the carcass of the elk, the still-warm, still-bleeding corpse, and wander away. The fright and hatred in his eyes then, Stormy had read it clear as day, though she had seen nothing. He told her later that what he had seen was the remnants of what life the elk had, but the youthful delta had known it to mean simply, 'ghost.'
Stirred from her thoughts, she looked up, her eyes focusing on the solid gold and blue gazes watching her patiently. They had sat down, their transparent tails curling around their bodies, which met at the haunch, and blended together to create a near-solid appearance. She smiled and lifted her head, forgetting herself. The rodents scurried away and the insects slowly veered away. The predator had reared its ugly skull, and they were frightened of her. Stormy sighed and looked at the golden eyed and blue eyed ghosts, studying them with a skeptic glare. They seemed to smile, and lay down next to her. She felt cold brush up against her skin when they touched her, leaning their heads against hers. No weight. No feeling. Just cold. They were icy and bitter to the touch, but it was something Stormy could get used to. She looked from side to side, licking her nose, and wondered.
Can anyone else see ye? The golden eyed one nodded and rolled its pupil-less eyes, as if to say, "of course." Of course. Stormy felt disappointment edge into her then; of course others could see them. She was nothing special, just a steadily falling alpha of a pack that would not remember her name after long. Names. Did her ghosts have names? It was stupid to keep calling them based on their eye colors. Ah. D'ye 'ave names or somefin' like names? Another nod and what could have been an eyeroll, but from the blue eyed one this time. Stormy felt the stirring of pictures in her mind, the conjuring of images. It was excruciatingly lethargic this time, though, as if they could not find the right images to display the names. The golden eyed ghost prodded at her mind, touching the salmon tongue of the raven wolf with her own mind, poking forth from it the two names they bore. Agatha? You? And you, Seth? She spoke, looking at the golden eyed and the blue eyed wolves, respectively. Agatha and Seth. Seth and Agatha. Her ghosts. She smiled and lovingly sighed, her tail wagging.