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 Posted: Tue May 18, 2010 1:49 pm
Ayano stood upon a precipice, high up in the mountains, the wind was not at it's strongest by any stretch of the imagination but it was one to instil fear in a weak heart at such a height and position. Blossom pink eyes gazed almost absently as her face was turned into the wind overlooking the land below, but her sight had turned inwards as she searched her mind. The wind rippled her parchment coloured coat, the cherry blossoms appearing to shed their quickly dying petals across the thicker, softer fur of her stomach. It had been a few weeks now since the two legger had pasted on, perhaps he had finally achieved his goal of Nirvana, Ayano would never know. She had followed the Zen monk on his pilgrimage since she was a pup and now he was gone she felt an irreparable loss and a constant cloud of mourning seemed to hang over here, words could not express her feelings and after searching for a long time the only thing she had found to truly express herself was to paint.
The monk had carried very little personal belongs but he had seemed to take a great deal of pleasure from painting and writing in a very controlled and manner. Ayano had taken into her care his inkstick, inkstone and calligraphy brush, along with a few precious scrolls of parchment which he had written on; wrapped carefully in a piece of cloth she never let the four items out of her sight, being the last remaining physical items she had of Turtle.
Returning to the presence time and space, her eyes focused back onto the here and now with remorse. She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes tasting and savouring the mountain air, it held a little moisture, a promise of rain but it wasn't cooling; it was warm and possessed a slight tingle of electricity. Her eyes opened and with the knowledge of a thunderstorm on the way she set to work before she needed to find shelter.
She backed up carefully from the cliffs edge, turned and carefully and with great reverence collected a small cloth encased bundle. The rock here was exposed, before hardy trees and shrubs claimed the limited soil and transgressed further into thicker hardwood forests. Clearing her canvas, Ayano lay the bundle down and carefully dug out the calligraphy brush, nearby was a puddle of water and around its edges soil, this would provide her 'paint.' Collecting the brush in her maw she loaded it with mud and water and began to paint.
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Posted: Tue May 18, 2010 2:18 pm
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Cleaners were usually confined to the centermost of the pack in order for them to go about their duties quicker. Yet with the three litters coming in one after the other seemingly, the pack had been filled enough vibrant life that the to be near the innermost of Ignis Renatus was to be painting oneself a target for one of the pups to come forth and bother in their usual fashion: a question about his appearance, a tug on his ear or tail or even his extra hair if they managed to tagteam, a whine about not needing to be pupsitted – or if nothing else his presence was a sign to get the heck out of there or else they would be forced to stay in the middle of the pack where it was safest. Certainly daring minds were already beginning to develop, and even with the pair of lynx watching over one or two pups, it was still a harrowing task to do just about anything without running into a curious pup.
So it was that Twiddle decided, after he finished picking up after his own quaint den, to take a breather away from the majority of his fellow members. Months (years?) of travelling alone could not be so easily undone, and it was draining to be around such lively wolves as the young ones; especially the colorful brood whose minds he longed to investigate. But for now, knowing full well the signs of an impending storm, he decided to climb and find his usual perch, an elevated copse of rocks not far from where he had originally been found by Kearith. His fur itched slightly with what could best be described as the “potential” of electricity usually brought on by a closing-in storm in the air, that slight charge that was not enough to raise alarm but enough to be detected. After a few minutes of travel, he lifted his head just to toss back the dark locks from his eyes when he spotted an odd thing.
A black streak in the sky? He blinked and focused properly upon the figure, watching it resolve itself into a creamy background, what looked like pink pinpricks from afar. He flared his nostrils to pick up a scent. A wolf? How odd . . . It wasn’t listed in his duties to attend to those who were close to the pack boundaries, but Twiddle was a curious sort who did not mind putting his nose (and sometimes neck) out in the on-going process of investigation he always seemed in. How often did one see a wolf high in the mountains when a storm was obviously coming anyway? There was a sense of purpose there, he felt – and if there was not, that was within itself a discovery.
So he made his way up the path rather than deviating to move to his regular perch, panting a little by the time he reached level with this wolf. Traveler or not, Twiddle had never been in the best of shape, and it would take some time yet to grow accustomed to the energy needed to traverse in the mountains. The wolf seemed intent upon something, and as soon as his sole eye landed upon the rock, the loner too was drawn in. Without making a sound, he settled on his haunches as a silent observer, watching as the brush was drawn across the rocks with practiced movements.
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Posted: Tue May 18, 2010 3:47 pm
Ayano was an average built wolf, if anything she was just the other side of being classed as petite. Her frame was lean and fit and she moved with the agile grace present in most females of good health. Totally infused with her painting she did not notice the coming of the male wolf, scent and sound, the main senses which would indicate the other were dulled into an obsolete state and her sight was only focused on one thing; her painting. She had, with some trial and error, discovered that painting with mud and earth as her media, that the brush flowed and was easier to work when it held a great deal of water otherwise the earth tended to dry and clog her brush. She moved in a way that she herself became a form of art, dancing back from her canvas to the puddle of water, swirling rapidly over vaster areas of rock and then slowing down to concentrate on a more detailed area. What she painted, to begin with, she never planned, she allowed it to come from her deepest part of her, all the subliminal emotions she could not tap into by any other means bubbled to the surface when she painted and erupted into vast story boards and dream like images.
So fixed on her work she also lacked a sense of time and soon the clouds had began to roll up from behind the mountains, the increased altitude of the building clouds finally caused the moisture to precipitate and pour down from the heavens above. The first raindrops fell, slowly at first, causing her image to bleed and become disfigured and then slowly the rain crescendoed erupting into the first of many thunder cracks. Ayano stopped, knowing she could paint no more in this weather, in minutes her work would be washed away and be no more. She opened her maw slowly and let the muddied brush drop from her mouth and roll an inch to rest against her forepaws, she hung her head and the rain rolled from between her ears, down between her eyes and poured in a stream from her nose.
After a moment Ayano lifted her head, the rain that had been streaming down her face at first rolled back into her ears and she blinked them clear before the path of water trickled down the sides of her face in a less obtrusive path. Like her own art Turtle's scrolls would bleed too if they became moist and while they were secure in bamboo cases she didn't want his work to ruin, unlike her's, his was invaluable. She collected the brush and with muddied ink black paws she traipsed over to the cloth bundle, dropping the brush in with the other collection of items, with practised dexterity she peeled the cloth from the soaking rock and wrapped them up, pinching the edges of the cloth between her front teeth. With that she turned, intent on finding a little shelter in amongst the trees.
Though with turning and her eyes scanning the tree line she spotted the other wolf. It had been an age since she had last saw another wolf, many had avoided contact with Turtle and consequently with her also. She stared at the other, her gaze some what hollow, empty as if her soul had left her eyes. With the precious cargo between her teeth she did not want to engage verbal contact with the other and thus she broke her line of sight and instead focused on finding a path into the trees and for shelter where she could rest and insure the scrolls weren't damaged.
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Posted: Wed May 19, 2010 12:23 pm
Twiddle seemed as unaffected by his other senses, watching intently at the strokes and interpreting each internally. There was a magic in being so engrossed in one’s passion that he perceived and was drawn to like a moth to fire. Like a puzzle piece looking for its kin to fill the gap it held, so too did Twiddle watch and wonder at the intense concentration the she-wolf had. What did it feel like, to become so focused that one left the world entirely? Was it the same as to daydream? It was the closest equivalent the loner could think of, for he did not have a good grasp of emotions, if any at all. To ask him what it meant to be passionate was to ask a blind animal what color was: he was missing something vital in order to comprehend it.
So perhaps what he saw was not just a wolf with an odd tool in her mouth swirling mud and grime upon a rock. Perhaps what Twiddle saw instead was a form of a miracle: an emotion or ideal so strong that it left the realm of the metaphoric and made its presence known in theirs. As a wolf that walked the line between – or so he believed – the journey to cross fully into that physical realm, that here and now, was too . . . eventful. Too much for someone like him. He was no adventurer: only an observer, a watcher of the world and not a participant.
And as Twiddle let his thoughts swirl about, the she-wolf’s work began to be erased by the rain, and she deftly picked up her belongings to find shelter. “Not even the world accepts everything created in it,” he mused, his sole good eye following her almost robotically as she glanced at him briefly – the eye contact filled with a sense of familiarity as one blank eye stare into the other – and then continued upward. He had no doubt of following her yes, though . . . he allowed distance to be put between them. Enough so that their very different worlds did not mingle with one another needlessly, but close enough to let him be able to track her. As the rain began to fall upon him, he tilted his head a little to the right so that the brunt of win and water was to his left side, whilst his bangs somewhat provided extra cover from the droplets. It gave him a slanted view of the world in order that he might see properly . . . how deeply ironic. Pinpointing the pale figure amongst gray, he followed after her quietly.
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Posted: Tue May 25, 2010 11:54 am
Ayano looked towards the trees, unaware at first of the male following her, her sense of smell not her strongest sense to begin with and dampened down in this downpour she did not catch the scent of him. She noted a patch where the trees had started to grow closer together; perhaps the soil was better there or there was, at first, less competition for light and nutrients or perhaps simply up on a high place like this and they way the land lay in that area the trees were less open to the elements and thus were allowed to grow without as much damage as those stunted and deformed trees attempting to grow on the more exposed cliff tops. Either way Ayano did not ponder upon this long, concerned for the integrity of Turtle’s scrolls she headed for the trees in hopes of protection from the rain.
She broke into a steady lopping trot and made for the beginnings of the forest, drawing closer she slowed to a walk and entered into a different world. As her head passed under the first limb the rain from above seemed to ease it’s down pour, now simply becoming larger droplets of water as they rolled down the branches collected and then falling to the pine needle strewn floor. One of which landed between her eyes, causing her to shake her head a little to clear her eyes. The rest of her body followed and soon, out of the torrential downpour of the thunderous storm her water logged coated began to tickle as water was pulled by gravity through her coat, from her shoulders to her belly, before dripping off. Resisting the urge to shake she urgently looked about for a more secluded spot to lay down, so she could lay her parcel down carefully and then shake her coat dry before waiting the storm out.
Not far away she spotted where a tree had fallen; its root system ripped from the earth below and now offered a greater element of protection. Laying her cargo down she backed away a little and shook her coat out. Then, more comfortable and at ease that her precious belongings were safe she wasn’t so tunnel visioned. She took in a deep breath the scent of pine, sap, earth, lichen, moss and wolf filled her nostrils. The male had followed her, the one she had had eye contact with. She looked around and spotted him, as wet through as she herself had been, she wondered whether he was simply seeking shelter rather than company however he seemed to be advancing on her. She backed up a little, her back now to the root system and then concluded if he was going to harm her he’d approach her in a more aggressive manner, perhaps, she had know so few wolves in her time. Finally her voice emerged from her throat the sound faint, mournful but almost musical, ‘I am sorry I could not…’ There was a loud crack of thunder, Ayano did not flinch, but her words were lost to the noise, though she now simply stood staring at the stranger awaiting a reply.
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Posted: Tue May 25, 2010 12:38 pm
The only noise out of him for a while was just the soft grunts of exertion as they climbed and then wound about through the stunted trees; the pelt-pounding rain, the wind as it picked up and blew against them, the groan of the bending trunks – all of it blocked his own voice out. “The wind is stealing it,” he said to himself, and barely heard the words as thunder crashed at the same time. It seemed the wolfess had found a place to shelter her objects beneath a fallen tree, and Twiddle paused once he found her anew, legs brushing across dry bushes. He had to take a small stance in order not to be so easily buffeted about by the storm winds, and as he steadied himself, the wolfess “buried” her treasures and turned to him, awaiting for something.
What to say? He wasn’t particular why he had followed her at all, and in truth there was no concrete reason to. She was, after all, a stranger that had straddled the pack border. But then, so had he been the same that day that Kearith invited him in . . . And as one of the first things he had directed to her was a question, so too would this be begun with one.
“Why did you create when you knew it was would be destroyed?”
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Posted: Tue May 25, 2010 1:15 pm
She stared at him wondering if he'd heard her original words but with the thunder and the storm raging she could understand if he hadn't but she caught his words, loud and clear, if not in a physical sense. Her eyes widened and she stared hard at him, what sort of creature began a conversation in such a manner but then she supposed she herself wasn't a very orthodox wolf and neither had her life been up until this point and so she considered a answer for him. 'Well... I guess...' she looked away then, breaking the eye contacted she'd formed with his one good eye, it wasn't easy to talk about something so personal and to a complete stranger but something prompted her to answer him. 'I guess you could say, hmm, well...I don't paint to create, I paint to...' A feeling of panic arose in her, the ideal of divulging something this personal just didn't come easily and her words tumbled out of her trying now to get the ordeal over with, 'I paint to express myself, to let everything buried on the inside come out of me, freeing inner demons, inner emotions and then I feel...' She searched for a word, 'lighter.' A flash of light lit up the forest, everything for the briefest of moments looking as though it had been dipped in silver.
Silence came between the two wolves and nothing was spoken for a split second, the only sound to divide the silence from speech was another loud threatening crack of thunder and the protesting groan of old trees being forcing to sway in the violent winds carrying the storm. Finally, 'But then does anything that is created last forever? Your mother and father created you and one day you will be destroyed, are you saying there isn't a purpose in creating something that doesn't last?' Ayano fixed his good eye with blossom pink orbs something almost pleading within them, her own coat depicted the cherry blossom, a bloom which last so few days a symbol of beauty but also portraying the fragility of life. Creating beauty however fleeting must be worth it, just for that one moment of pleasure it brought.
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Posted: Tue May 25, 2010 1:57 pm
Ah, the barrier once more, this need to express for the pleasure of it and nothing more that he did not understand . . . And with a valid point about life to add. But what was life but the ultimate expression of that which escaped him? He was a walking contradiction, a clean soul in a haggard body, tethered only by . . . only by . . . His thought was lost momentarily when a fat gob of water managed to splatter against his extra hair, raining itself down into his open eyes. He blinked it out furiously and decided to settle upon his haunches, covering his paws of all things with a wrapped tail. Twiddle shook his head a little and noted that the rain was slowly growing harder and heavier. Yet there he stayed with only nettle at his paws, not minding that the water stung his back with the erratic bouts of wind that came. Above them, the sky grew darker still.
“Interesting what can be interpreted. A simple sentence can beget many meanings.” He returned to tilting his head slightly, a characteristic pose with his bundled legs. “I cannot decipher the meaning behind life when I know nothing of it. Whether it is purposeless or not does not matter: life is created and destroyed each day. Expression is a separate matter and the one I am more intrigued by.” He gestured with his snout to the uprooted tree, blinking again as a drop of rain fell against his cheek and close to his eye. “Whose tools do you possess? What you do, is that an art of theirs? It is odd to practice it when the rain will wash it out without reason.” He did not understand that someone could express themselves at whatever point in time they wished; frankly, the loner thought it had something to do with the rain itself. Perhaps a subtle meaning he needed to elucidate.
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Posted: Tue May 25, 2010 2:26 pm
Ayano stared hard at the male, much of what he said didn't seem to make much sense to her, 'How can you know nothing of life when you are living it? Maybe it doesn't have a purpose but I would like to think it does or why create something in the first place, we all create things for a purpose. As for expression, yes that is a separate matter but it is closely linked to purpose for our desire to express something has a purpose otherwise we would not express it.'
'You yourself now are expressing an interest, you are interested as to why I paint and this must have a purpose, perhaps it is as simple as to gain knowledge and to further your knowledge of the world around you.' At the mention of Turtle's possessions Ayano blinked, turning almost automatically to look at the bundle, insuring they were still safe. 'They belonged to a human, I was his companion for many years. As for what I do, I attempt to paint, nothing like the humans are capable of, they use it to communicate I believe, it seems to also stir emotions within them.' She paused, memories of Turtle leaking into her foremost thoughts and she frantically began pushing them back into the abscess of her mind not wanting to replay them. She stared at the male wolf accusingly and finally if not with a slight blunt edge now entering her voice, 'As I said I paint to release tension, free inner feelings which I fear to do by any other method, the fact that the images do not last does not bother me, I do not paint for others to see it, for it to last...' her voice dropped a touch of melancholy tainting it, 'As we've pointed out, nothing is meant to last, one day we all pass on.'
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Posted: Tue May 25, 2010 2:52 pm
“There are many who are living today who know not why they live. Is it so odd to say that I know nothing of life whilst I live?” he queried curiously. “Though you bring up good points, and for this I will not pursue a matter that runs itself into the ground long after words are exchanged.” So he sat quietly and listened to her explanation, not surprised that human companionship was involved; wolves didn’t just come across items like those by chance, not so often. Nor did they get it into their heads so simply to try and “paint”. It was his first interaction with a wolf that knew a human so intimately (at least as far as he remembered), so he thought to capitalize upon the moment.
“What was the human like?” Twiddle asked, tilting his ears forward after he shook his head to clear them of water. “His mannerisms, characteristics. A name perhaps? Intelligible? Of Native or Foreigner descent?”
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Posted: Tue May 25, 2010 3:10 pm
'To know now why we are living, no one knows this however I would wager some would debate the subject and perhaps even grasp a glimmer of the answer to such a question, knowing the ultimate reason for living is not known but perhaps we have our own personal reasons for living and what we wish to gain from life, even if ultimately our personal goals are worthless, just like my paintings... I paint for my own reasons but ultimately it is worthless to the cycle of life in general, it is a simple action I do to please myself. But as to knowing of life, you must know of life, you live it. Perhaps you do not know the purpose of it all but you know it all; you know it is raining right this moment, you know you are talking to me, that the trees are growing and that we are living.'
Such philosophical discussions with a stranger did not seem unusual to female but when he reverted back to questioning her own personal experiences of life she froze and more to the point he was encroaching upon a subject she would not even discuss with herself let alone another wolf. She choose not to answer his questions even though all the information came tumbling back into the front of her mind once again and once again she pushed them back, shaking her head and denying them to see light. Instead she simply twisted the matter and began to question him. 'Why do you wish to know? What would be the purpose in gaining this information, what would you do with it?'
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Posted: Wed May 26, 2010 9:13 am
A game of questions it was. “How odd for you to ask after your philosophical rant,” he replied, though he had to repeat himself as another crash of thunder came over them. The storm was nearing its full power now, and the dragon upon his back writhed; any moment it might seem its jaws would shut or house the power of the flames behind its very legend. In contrast, Twiddle’s ears flopped to and fro in a most uncoordinated fashion with the wind, though never could it be said that his eyes moved away from her despite the disruptions – not even when his extended bangs batted at his lids. “As you paint, so do I ask; they are for the same reason. As you put, ‘it is a simple action I do to please myself’. Why I seek knowledge, I do not know; but it is compulsive and strangely entertaining to learn from others. I have no skill with my paws, nor do I excel in one area over another; at best I am a cleaner in my pack.”
His stature and build alone was a testament to it: as the rain pelted him more and more, his chocolate fur clung to his bones, revealing them in sharp contrast. Indeed, even as a pack member, he did not engorge upon meals, eating just about as much as he had before he had ever stumbled across Ignis Renatus; not through any neglect of course, but by his own doing. “Why do I wish to know? Simply for the existence of knowing. Why do you paint? Simply for the existence of a work of art,” Twiddle pointed out. “Some knowledge grows old, some paintings never last but a day or an hour. We continue pursuing them regardless. Is that not how a wolf grows: by interacting and learning from one another?”
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Posted: Sun Oct 10, 2010 10:55 am
Touche she thought to herself though not truly her last remark had been more a defensive reflex, trying to push him off the subject more than a true point of notation for she know such information would be of interest to any wolf. The answer he had given was broader of course describing the worth of gaining any sort of information in general but then the conversation as a whole seemed to be rather general and she much preferred it that way, no evasive questioning and no personal information given for she could not afford such ties, they hurt to much though part of her mind berated herself; such bonds gave life colour and interest but her more surface emotions told that part of her mind to sleep to leave her in her grey scale life at present, it hurt less and she welcomed the monotones.
She blinked and stared at the wolf in front of her, he was soaked to the bone, of which now seemed to be on show as his rain drenched pelt hung heavy against his minimal form. She wondered then why he choose to stand in the rain and hold such a conversation with her, as if it was a pleasant summer day to discuss the meaning of things not in the middle of a thunder storm, a perplexed look grew upon her face and she shook it off as soon as she was consciously aware she was wearing it; not wanting to give the impression that she was struggling with the points he had made. She pointed out to him though, 'I do not paint simply for the existence of an image or for art, it is not the image that is important, it doesn't matter that it lasts or not, the point is I paint as a release.' She shook her head but did not wish to dwell on the matter for it only triggered off the reason for having a form of release so hastily she continued, 'But yes I do agree that we must learn from one another, to develop one's character.'
That seemed to draw the point back to his original question, not something Ayano wanted and she searched desperately for an answer, not wanting to have to talk about Turtle. Quickly she pointed out, 'Why are you standing out of the protection of the root system? Your health will suffer if you soak yourself to such an extend.' Ayano had had little to no communication or connection to the wolf world she did not know any of the etiquettes and wondered if she was doing something wrong, if she was meant to inform the other that she did not mind sharing her shelter, she had never really given it much though. When it had rained Turtle had always found somewhere dry for them to rest, she had always nuzzled in beside him without a second thought however now she thought of it when they had first met she had waited for a gesture, was it the same amongst wolves? Thus Ayano smiled a little unsure at the other wolf and circled about, giving a little more space for the other to settle in beside her.
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Posted: Fri Oct 15, 2010 6:50 pm
"Some do not welcome close contact," Twiddle replied with a tiny shrug of his shoulders. "I did not want to offend you, stranger." But since she had given him the okay, the wind- and rain-battered wolf trudged to their makeshift shelter and plopped beside her, the designs on his pelt obscured by water, dirt, and upended fur, the tuft of hair plastered to his forehead and just scarce of his bad eye. Though his lesser size allowed him room, Twiddle's natural sitting position was to hunch slightly and let his head hang; water droplets raced to the end of his nose. "As for my health, it has always been this way. Neither worse nor better for the weather."
Thus was how it always had been: like a wisp controlling an outer shell far too large to reach out and feel. Had he known what automatons or robots were, he might have used such analogies.
"How odd," he mused aloud, "that I would come to the mountain for isolation and find company . . ." Perhaps the storm was a focal point of fate, a means of bringing wolves together for some purpose he did not know yet. "And why were you here amidst the storm? Surely your releasing sessions do not require chaos as their background."
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