Post by Roan on Sept 28, 2012 23:14:30 GMT -5
{Yes, this plotline is still going. And this follows Terror at Teatime, too lazy to post there}
After leaving the House of Jokes following Scarlet’s departure Roan didn’t know where to turn. Scarlet’s own disappearance had left her spooked and unwilling to be anywhere near humans. However being exiled from her pack and the Woods meant she did not think she would ever set foot in Fenrir’s domain again. Within a few panicked moments she made her choice and Roan had left the busy streets of the wizarding town for the nearby forest that bordered it. Voices of the trees as the wind blew through autumn leaves greeted the wayward lycan as she walked through the foliage in a daze. Exhaustion was gripping at her body but returning to nature was enough to pull her forward into the safe embrace of the lycan’s realm. Crisp scents of plants cleared the stench from her nose and the fresh air strengthened her as she walked, ever forward. Here was sanctuary.
Finally Roan let herself drop again to the floor of the forest. Breathing heavily she looked around to see where she had stopped. There had been a point in time where she had known the voices of each tree in this area and had walked in their midst as a wolf. Many dark corners of these woods would probably call her a stranger now, but not this place. She found herself in what she considered her spot in the tangled growth: a clearing that in her foolish youth she had burned once to tweak the tail of the mighty Fenrir. And that she had returned to regrowth and heal in repentance after the deed had been done. The result was thriving plants from the lush grass on the ground to the tall tree she leaned her back against. It was wild and free and yet being back in the area made her feel sheltered. The evening air was cool but it was refreshing as it helped lower the panicked woman’s temperature and calm her down.
With her head resting against the bark of the tree Roan’s dull eyes stared into the underbrush of the Woods. Her injured hand rested in her lap throbbing underneath the makeshift bandages but it was still nothing compared to the war that raged in her mind. She had been unable to fight it in the town where she was running like a mouse from a cat. Here in these woods she was the predator, she was the wolf. There was no need to scurry around and hide in dank buildings or flee. Instead, Roan closed her eyes and opened her mind to everything around her for the first time in a long while. Instead of burning images of towers or the corpses of her friends she allowed her ears and thoughts to be filled with the screeches of birds, the rustling of a rabbit in a bush, the sound of the trees and the wind, and the spirit of nature.
Getting in touch with her lycan roots was not going to end Roan’s troubles or end the pain. But she found a modicum of calm there in the Woods and was determined to keep it as long as she could.
After leaving the House of Jokes following Scarlet’s departure Roan didn’t know where to turn. Scarlet’s own disappearance had left her spooked and unwilling to be anywhere near humans. However being exiled from her pack and the Woods meant she did not think she would ever set foot in Fenrir’s domain again. Within a few panicked moments she made her choice and Roan had left the busy streets of the wizarding town for the nearby forest that bordered it. Voices of the trees as the wind blew through autumn leaves greeted the wayward lycan as she walked through the foliage in a daze. Exhaustion was gripping at her body but returning to nature was enough to pull her forward into the safe embrace of the lycan’s realm. Crisp scents of plants cleared the stench from her nose and the fresh air strengthened her as she walked, ever forward. Here was sanctuary.
Finally Roan let herself drop again to the floor of the forest. Breathing heavily she looked around to see where she had stopped. There had been a point in time where she had known the voices of each tree in this area and had walked in their midst as a wolf. Many dark corners of these woods would probably call her a stranger now, but not this place. She found herself in what she considered her spot in the tangled growth: a clearing that in her foolish youth she had burned once to tweak the tail of the mighty Fenrir. And that she had returned to regrowth and heal in repentance after the deed had been done. The result was thriving plants from the lush grass on the ground to the tall tree she leaned her back against. It was wild and free and yet being back in the area made her feel sheltered. The evening air was cool but it was refreshing as it helped lower the panicked woman’s temperature and calm her down.
With her head resting against the bark of the tree Roan’s dull eyes stared into the underbrush of the Woods. Her injured hand rested in her lap throbbing underneath the makeshift bandages but it was still nothing compared to the war that raged in her mind. She had been unable to fight it in the town where she was running like a mouse from a cat. Here in these woods she was the predator, she was the wolf. There was no need to scurry around and hide in dank buildings or flee. Instead, Roan closed her eyes and opened her mind to everything around her for the first time in a long while. Instead of burning images of towers or the corpses of her friends she allowed her ears and thoughts to be filled with the screeches of birds, the rustling of a rabbit in a bush, the sound of the trees and the wind, and the spirit of nature.
Getting in touch with her lycan roots was not going to end Roan’s troubles or end the pain. But she found a modicum of calm there in the Woods and was determined to keep it as long as she could.