And as she turns,
This way she moves in the logic of all my dreams.
This fire burns,
I realize that nothing's as it seems.
I dream of rain,
I dream of gardens in the desert sand.
I wake in vain,
I dream of love as time runs through my hand...
--Desert Rose, Sting

It was all a game to her.

Pacing herself, she follows as the bull elk walks backwards, facing her, ensuring that his rear is protected from her fangs. Sola, ever so calculating, lunges, within yards of a cow elk’s carcass, tearing at the elk’s throat, just missing his jugular. But before he can even bring his hooves crashing down upon her head, she darts just out of reach, standing beside the fallen cow. She catches her breath, watching him intensely.

The plan was simple; tire the bull enough to attack without getting hit. Stand beside a cow elk, seeing as how the bull wouldn’t dare go near the body of his own dead. Rinse, lather, repeat. Sure, it took a long time to kill a bull in such a manner, but if it was one thing Sola had, it was plenty of patience.

She watches as the bull returns to his grazing just a few yards from her. She eyes his entire figure, looking at the open wounds, calculating just how many more bites and tears it would take to finish him. She smirks at the elk stumbles momentarily, finally feeling the effects of blood loss.

She howls.

The bull glances up just in time to see Sola charge fearlessly, only to witness his vision going blurry, and then falling into nothingness. This time, Sola hits her mark, tearing out his jugular, the blood spray hitting everything within several feet of them; trees, the ground, herself, and a poor squirrel trying to dig up an old cache of nuts nearby. She watches as the newly baptized squirrel scurries away, leaving a trail of urine behind in his wake.

In the viewpoint of a tiny squirrel, blood flooding out of a giant elk was more than enough to warrant pissing on yourself.

I've been most unwilling,
To see this turmoil of mine.
The thought of sitting with this,
Has me paralyzed.
With this prolonged exposure,
To near and averted eyes.
I think that I've been waiting,
Such mileage for empathizing...
--Madness, Alanis Morissette

She watches.

She watches him walk ever so calmly to the coyote in front of him, the coyote simply standing there, like a statue in a park.

That poor thing is so confused, she muses.

The said poor thing was one of those that forgot the world actually moved; frozen in time, nerves numb, eyes blank, and senses dead.

Perhaps all living things do such when they know they’re seconds from death.

He stops just inches from the coyote’s face, just staring, as if he is trying to find something.

But he finds nothing.

Within seconds, it is over; his mouth clamps around the coyote’s head, reality crashing back down upon the helpless canid. But it is too late; he finishes the job with one bite, the blood splatter coating the ground in a deep crimson.

The coyote slams down upon the ground, as its own blood drips from his mouth into its closed eyes. If anyone else had seen it afterwards, they would have thought it was crying blood, perhaps lamenting its naivety and ignorance.

With a loud huff, he drags the dead coy closer to the entrance of the den, caching it for later. He returns to her side, licking the blood off of his long, narrow muzzle. She sighs as she watches, and proceeds to rub her chin into the ground, an itch begging to be itched. He sneezes as she riles up the dust, only for her to laugh as his fit continues.

“I still don't understand why you do it.” She says, as he sneezes one final time before laying across from her, his paws resting on hers.

“Why shouldn’t I?” He replies, irritation creeping into his voice.

It's time to sweep the table clean, and get the facts straight.

Bear with me, however. I'm typing this at about 2:30 in the morning, and I technically shouldn't even be in the lounge at this hour. But I'm throwing away sleep time for this. Because frankly, I need to let some steam off outside of the Forest. Those of you who witnessed me beating the sap out of the trees will now see what my grievances are/were concerning.

I'll start with the obvious. I hate seeing the community torn apart like this. It's true that I haven't been here that long (Maybe since last September), but I still feel that there's something about this community that sets it apart from the forums and such that I've been to. Save for TKK. TKK will always have a firm bond with me, regardless as to how detached I am from it now.

But regardless, seeing everyone in disarray like this hurts a bit. Sure, chaos and drama is the very lifeblood of life itself, and without it, the world would turn cold and stale; but it has always been within human nature to hate the very things that keep them alive. Hence why I voice this confession of hating drama and chaos.

And yet, it's almost cruel that, despite hating it, I seem to get drawn right into it; in fact, I feel that sometimes I've caused it, and not of my own will. Which is, again, hurtful to me.

Getting away from that, another confession: I will confess to being selfish towards most things. And yet, I keep myself humble at the same time; Many times I've said, "Oh this sucks," and whatnot, and everytime I say it, I do, in fact, mean it. But at the same time, there's a nagging thought in me that tells me the reason I said so was to garner compliments.

Two kinds of trouble in this world,
Living... dying.
I lost my power in this world,
And the rumors are flying.
So I go insane,
Like I always do,
And I call your name,
She's a lot like you...
--Go Insane, Lindsey Buckingham

She remembered it all.

She remembered the crying, the crawling, the fleeing, the dying, the devouring.

She remembered standing over her starving sister, a strange, sick feeling twisting in her stomach, recognizing it as, “Helplessness.”

She remembered Mitea tackling her brother, Seven, as he tried to call out to their missing mother and father.

She remembered yelling, “Amaya, come on!” as the poor wolf cub tried in vain to make it to the den, before collapsing in a heap, Death’s hand lightly patting her, much like a parent offering affection to their offspring.

She remembered the ravaged look on the coyote’s face, as an easy meal was finally realized.

She remembered the way her mother and father cried out in agony at the news that they were minutes too late.

She remembered hearing the neighboring packs howling as well, her body rattling with yet another strange feeling, which she had recognized as “Sadness.”

So…why?

Why does she seem so cheery, so happy-go-lucky when her sister had passed just two days before? Surely, this wasn’t normal. Surely, she’s still grieving on the inside, the sounds and images fresh in her mind.

But the truth was…it was normal.

Well, to her, that is.

The pretty brown wolf cub, splotched in hues of white and black, much like her father, tilts her head quizzically, gazing out at the land that was collectively called Slough Creek. Perched on a pretty throne of rock that was the overhead of the den, she is a little queen in her own little space.

What kind of world to we live in,
Where Love is divided by Hate?
Losing control of our feelings,
We all must be dreaming this life away.
In a world so cold...

--World So Cold, 12 Stones

Normally, life was fairly stable in the Aspen Heights.

Puppies were sheltered in the cool, stone cavern that was called a den. Coyotes feared its depths, spreading tales of a giant bear that guarded it, allowing only wolves to make such a home, under the promise that he would be fed his dues once a month. Bears themselves hated it, being too large to nest in it. And eagles were simply too lazy to land.

It was considered the best area in which to raise a family. The flowers growing around the base of it were seen as good luck charms, guarding den and family against unpleasant threats.

But as far as Seven was concerned, he was anything but lucky.

In terms of his color, his palette, he could be considered the ultimate hybrid. Dressed in his mother’s charcoal, his father’s rust peppered throughout, he was considered a beauty in his own right. His only unique feature, the only thing he could claim as his own, were his blazing orange eyes, tongues of flame that told the hardships of three months of life.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Seven cringes at the sound. He eyes look solemnly towards the direction of the cattle ranch, knowing that another foolish wolf overstepped his confidence – and paid for it with his life.

While Seven himself had never seen the ranch, he vowed to never even try and glance a peek at such a place. When he was just six weeks old, just old enough to crawl out of the stoned cavern that was his birthplace, the family was under duress. He and his siblings were the first pups born within the newest generation of leaders; all before him had long died, leaving just him, his sisters, and his mother and father, Saya and Ten.

However, such was not the issue at hand.

Well, I edited this before because I thought the poem was pretty, and I wanted to be all dkagnelanlg mysterious and shite. I fail in my endeavors apparently.

Alright, here's the whole scoop.

About a month or two ago, I posted a couple of stories and a chart. No big deal, right?

Oh, but see, these stories and chart revolved around wolves.

As a result, someone decided to make a blog telling me to remove the stories and chart. They put my name in the blog. It was publicly posted, and I was outright humiliated.

And for what? My intention was not to bring these wolves into the Forest. I wrote the stories over winter break whilst playing WolfQuest 2, and to be honest, this is the only place I cam post them without being rebuked. Or at least that's what I had thought. For those of you going, "Oh, just post them in the WolfQuest forum," I can't.

Why? Because their rules concerning stories about wolves are very strict. I already know full well that 95% of my stories would be rejected outright. I'd post the rules, but I won't for now. This is the third time I've had to retype this, because I accidentally backspaced, and lost everything. Therefore, I'm in no mood for posting their rules and tearing them apart.

To be honest, I really didn't want to bring this whole event up; I was in no mood for starting a potential war over "morals" and all that jazz. But I have been very bitter about it since that time, and last night, I just snapped.

Music Playlist at MixPod.com

If I'm doing any aggressive actions, or I'm running away from you, please, please, please, don't be offended; I'm trying to set up my hotkeys, and test them out, and I'm also trying to take screencaps for something that I'll hopefully post by tomorrow, so I kinda need some space.

Thanks <3