Winter's Howl [finished]
Nov 27, 2018 13:36:38 GMT -8
Post by Meds on Nov 27, 2018 13:36:38 GMT -8
Murmur;
For a place regularly referred to as 'The Emptiness', the area deserved a whole new name when blanketed with snow. One might not think that the Badlands would get snow... but they would be wrong. Well, perhaps 'snow' was the wrong word for what met Murmur's eyes as he approached the flat land that day. Ice, surely. Frost--perhaps. There wasn't really enough moisture in the air to properly snow; however, the temperature was biting and the ground was as slippery as ever. There was something overwhelming about such an endless space of white-nothingness. Overwhelming for some, that is. But Murmur was not 'some'. He was Murmur.
Long-clawed paws aided the tall male in avoiding the most slippery sections. Once or twice he almost did stumble, but ultimately he stayed upright by digging in and finding hold at the last moment--shrieking in laughter each time. Bright eyes, purple in their depths, swiveled in their sockets, never still.
"So much to look at on a day such as this," He said softly. Truthfully there wasn't; at least, not to anybody regular. It was all just snow, and flat, and overcast sky blending it all together in a white-grey blur. But Murmur was not regular. He was not everybody. He was Murmur.
And truly, to anybody looking on it would appear as though he was intently interested at the monotonous surroundings. His head turned this way and that, watching things either too-small or too-imaginary for anybody else to see. When tiring of one such thing, he would then dart one way and then another, his wide smile constant. His smile had gained a new shine, however. His teeth, always long, always sharp--had changed, slightly.
It had hurt unfathomably as it was happening, of course. But the end result had been so deliciously interesting. Tusks now grew out from the corners of Murmur's mouth--long, white, and deadly sharp. He had already cut his own lips on them multiple times while getting used to them, as the half-healed wounds on his mouth exhibited. His smile was already so wide that it didn't deform him much--but there was something decidedly disturbing about a wolf whose teeth stuck out past his cheeks. He had worried for a moment that they would keep growing up and out until they had all but punctured his eyes. Thankfully though, they had stopped. He had already gored a rabbit with them--very helpful little tools they were turning out to be, even when dealing with a thin winter-hare.
Murmur slowed his pace eventually, and turned in a half circle, observing everything around him. The wind was howling bitterly, but his fur protected him well enough. He did not expect to see anybody else out on a day such as that. Only fools went out in that kind of weather; or perhaps those who had gone mad.
Murmur wondered which kind he was...
For a place regularly referred to as 'The Emptiness', the area deserved a whole new name when blanketed with snow. One might not think that the Badlands would get snow... but they would be wrong. Well, perhaps 'snow' was the wrong word for what met Murmur's eyes as he approached the flat land that day. Ice, surely. Frost--perhaps. There wasn't really enough moisture in the air to properly snow; however, the temperature was biting and the ground was as slippery as ever. There was something overwhelming about such an endless space of white-nothingness. Overwhelming for some, that is. But Murmur was not 'some'. He was Murmur.
Long-clawed paws aided the tall male in avoiding the most slippery sections. Once or twice he almost did stumble, but ultimately he stayed upright by digging in and finding hold at the last moment--shrieking in laughter each time. Bright eyes, purple in their depths, swiveled in their sockets, never still.
"So much to look at on a day such as this," He said softly. Truthfully there wasn't; at least, not to anybody regular. It was all just snow, and flat, and overcast sky blending it all together in a white-grey blur. But Murmur was not regular. He was not everybody. He was Murmur.
And truly, to anybody looking on it would appear as though he was intently interested at the monotonous surroundings. His head turned this way and that, watching things either too-small or too-imaginary for anybody else to see. When tiring of one such thing, he would then dart one way and then another, his wide smile constant. His smile had gained a new shine, however. His teeth, always long, always sharp--had changed, slightly.
It had hurt unfathomably as it was happening, of course. But the end result had been so deliciously interesting. Tusks now grew out from the corners of Murmur's mouth--long, white, and deadly sharp. He had already cut his own lips on them multiple times while getting used to them, as the half-healed wounds on his mouth exhibited. His smile was already so wide that it didn't deform him much--but there was something decidedly disturbing about a wolf whose teeth stuck out past his cheeks. He had worried for a moment that they would keep growing up and out until they had all but punctured his eyes. Thankfully though, they had stopped. He had already gored a rabbit with them--very helpful little tools they were turning out to be, even when dealing with a thin winter-hare.
Murmur slowed his pace eventually, and turned in a half circle, observing everything around him. The wind was howling bitterly, but his fur protected him well enough. He did not expect to see anybody else out on a day such as that. Only fools went out in that kind of weather; or perhaps those who had gone mad.
Murmur wondered which kind he was...