-- Mild Gore Warning! --
SNAP
Hinging and unhinging at rapid fire, Violet's jaws scraped clean the flesh from a disjointed femur. The fumbling of large paws to keep upright its prize gave ravenous motion to the rest of his form, while the slather of tongue against jowl sounded more rabid than hungry. It was the first hardy meal had in over several weeks, and no amount of grief could keep him from feeding any longer. He was ravenous. The warmth, in its momentary plentitude, was a call back to his home; to the family he had matured with... to simpler and safer times.
...
The reminder brought Violet pause and in to a moment of gratitude. It was a signature of his pack, imprinted upon him by his family and theirs before them. It brought him closer to the whole, and simultaneously back to couple of months ago when their numbers had dwindled to a mere seven, yet their prayers still managed to fill the void of silence often found up the mountain paths.
The memories rushed in, one after the other. A cacophony of sounds and smells and moments all pressed up against one another.
Seconds passed, and as they did he became more and more irritated. The internalization of his appreciation faded into the audible crack of bone; his jaws reflexively tightening over that which they gripped. The love of that community, separated by time and necessity, would be lost to him now forever. Merely a blip. The teachings of 'impermanence' did nothing to heal his reality... the eternity that awaited him without them.
He let loose a haggard growl, disrupting the thoughts altogether before the tearing of limp prey commenced.
He was alone now. He... was alone. And even if it was just for a season, the weight was no less a burden he did not wish to bear. To have had so much and to have lost it all.
A rush of birds escaping their canopy thrusted Violet back to the present. What fuss over memory and meal there had been quickly ended, and a heightened state of awareness took its place. Wide eyes darted from opening to opening and all across the tree line, scent muddled by the iron caked on his snout; so the reliance was elsewhere. He ached for the safety of his cavern, his mountainous home... Even barren of their company, it still provided him safekeeping.
But, primal needs demanded tending to.
A part of him hoped to sweep the horizon and see his sister's face, while a greater part of him knew it would never be hers he'd see again.
-------
The ground was painted red, the meat had become sparse on the bone, and all that could be made of the kill was thusly made. Violet above all was satisfied, and he lifted his gaze to survey the forest, a habitual check of his surroundings, before looking back towards Bluestone peaks.
A longing to return to the way things were provoked a sharp intake of breath, and he held it while his eyes remained fixed to the mountains.
Thirst... The scent of water was carried by the wind, a short days journey to the south... but the mountains were calling him home... and the inner turmoil sent an escaping breath out with several droplets of blood to splatter against the soil.
Healing.
He would go to the place they called Kells Run. He would continue to cleanse himself there. He had made his way down the mountain for a reason... and he knew it was for far more than to fill his belly.
One last breath to carry with him the chill of mountain air, and one last exhale to release all the expectations he had created while up there.
And then, to the South he travelled.
SNAP
Hinging and unhinging at rapid fire, Violet's jaws scraped clean the flesh from a disjointed femur. The fumbling of large paws to keep upright its prize gave ravenous motion to the rest of his form, while the slather of tongue against jowl sounded more rabid than hungry. It was the first hardy meal had in over several weeks, and no amount of grief could keep him from feeding any longer. He was ravenous. The warmth, in its momentary plentitude, was a call back to his home; to the family he had matured with... to simpler and safer times.
...
The reminder brought Violet pause and in to a moment of gratitude. It was a signature of his pack, imprinted upon him by his family and theirs before them. It brought him closer to the whole, and simultaneously back to couple of months ago when their numbers had dwindled to a mere seven, yet their prayers still managed to fill the void of silence often found up the mountain paths.
The memories rushed in, one after the other. A cacophony of sounds and smells and moments all pressed up against one another.
Seconds passed, and as they did he became more and more irritated. The internalization of his appreciation faded into the audible crack of bone; his jaws reflexively tightening over that which they gripped. The love of that community, separated by time and necessity, would be lost to him now forever. Merely a blip. The teachings of 'impermanence' did nothing to heal his reality... the eternity that awaited him without them.
He let loose a haggard growl, disrupting the thoughts altogether before the tearing of limp prey commenced.
He was alone now. He... was alone. And even if it was just for a season, the weight was no less a burden he did not wish to bear. To have had so much and to have lost it all.
A rush of birds escaping their canopy thrusted Violet back to the present. What fuss over memory and meal there had been quickly ended, and a heightened state of awareness took its place. Wide eyes darted from opening to opening and all across the tree line, scent muddled by the iron caked on his snout; so the reliance was elsewhere. He ached for the safety of his cavern, his mountainous home... Even barren of their company, it still provided him safekeeping.
But, primal needs demanded tending to.
A part of him hoped to sweep the horizon and see his sister's face, while a greater part of him knew it would never be hers he'd see again.
-------
The ground was painted red, the meat had become sparse on the bone, and all that could be made of the kill was thusly made. Violet above all was satisfied, and he lifted his gaze to survey the forest, a habitual check of his surroundings, before looking back towards Bluestone peaks.
A longing to return to the way things were provoked a sharp intake of breath, and he held it while his eyes remained fixed to the mountains.
Thirst... The scent of water was carried by the wind, a short days journey to the south... but the mountains were calling him home... and the inner turmoil sent an escaping breath out with several droplets of blood to splatter against the soil.
Healing.
He would go to the place they called Kells Run. He would continue to cleanse himself there. He had made his way down the mountain for a reason... and he knew it was for far more than to fill his belly.
One last breath to carry with him the chill of mountain air, and one last exhale to release all the expectations he had created while up there.
And then, to the South he travelled.
