Endless Summer [OPEN]

[Wren]

[Cyra]

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There used to be a time that I believed
The soft pouring rain was just the pouring rain, it wasn’t me

~The dens were quiet. Summer was in full bloom and, with the lack of pups in the pack (or breeding pairs entirely, for that matter), the dens seemed devoid of life. Yes, at night the shadows of the Eyrie wolves graced the stage, setting themselves upon rocks and next to kin, but during the day there was nary a wolf to be found. They were off enjoying the summer air, frolicking through meadows of lush grass and wildflowers. Cyra, on the other hand, was content to stay out of the bright season, preferring the damp and darkened caves to the heat-stroke inducing summer. Perhaps it was just the way she viewed the sun; it stuck to her fur and made her hot, and therefore, it was evil.

Stretching her lanky forelimbs and producing a high-frequency yawn, Cyra rolled so she was on her side, staring out at the bright world she was born into. She had heard the stories of Valhalla, the land of Gods, and she wondered if the place had been nearly as bright as this. Was the weather finicky there, as well? Perhaps the sky fit to your desires, and changed depending on your wishes. If that were the case, Cyra would argue for a constant night. There, she was free to roam the shadows, and heard little jeers or jests about her size. Nay, the crickets and wind would be all she would hear, if she were in Valhalla. That is, if the heaven she so imagined was anything close to the truth. The stories she remembered from her grandsire had been those of a great hall; not a heaven, but her imagination had so construed the idea of Valhalla that there was little truth left in her God-fearing mind.

Cyra closed her eyes for a brief moment, the cogs of her mind turning wildly. She spun from the process of theology to that of her present social situation; what would become of Eyrie pack, if no Alpha or Alphess took over in the next few weeks? Surely she and Silmarillion could not uphold the order of the pack for much longer, no matter how strong or careful they were as temporary leaders. And with the lack of breeding pairs within the pack, how would they survive another year? Disease and other threats ravaged their land, whether they admitted so or not, and pups were the only way to balance the wave of death that winter would most certainly bring. If males were not introduced to their ecology soon, then the pack’s numbers and strength could easily fall in the next few seasons. After all, no matter how adept Lexington was at healing, he was no warrior. And if Silmarillion was killed, then they would be left with a single male, and not much chance for growth.

The black female sighed, her chest heaving as she did so. So much sociological trouble, in her mind. In truth, the pack was strong, and growing in numbers even as she lay about the dens, soaking in the cool stone’s energy. They had two new females to call packmates, and no doubt there were more on their way; fresh young wolves eager to leave their families, rogues who tired of the wandering road. Cyra didn’t complain—more wolves meant more stories, and more entertainment for her.

A scent wafted through the dens, stirring her nose into a quiver. Still, her crystal eyes remained shut, form unmoving but for the steady rise and fall of her chest. It was an Eyrie member, this she knew by the scent, but the cave’s small streams and muggy smell coated the identity of her visitor.

“How now, tired of the play?” She asked to the newcomer, unmoving on the stony floor of the den. It was usually not in her interests to induce conversation, but now, as the day drew on and Cyra became slightly bored of the empty caves, she expressed her salutations. After all, she didn’t want to be rude.~

But every new light that wasn’t shiny and bright
We’ll suspend the storms and the clouds in sight.
Endless Summer, Zwan

[Peach]

Ooc; -shuffles in-

[/blockquote]

A speck of cream moved through the glaring sunlight. Skreleen very rarely moved this high through the mountains, let alone amongst her pack mates. Many of the younger wolves had moved past her as she made her way closer to the dens, but a few of the older ones mingled in the warm sunshine. They all seemed to be enjoying the weather. Skreleen, personally, hated it. The sky was hard to look at, the heat made her overheated and the days seemed longer.

"Greetings Skreleen," an unfamiliar face said.

The story teller looked at the female stranger with little emotion on her face. She had often wished for a mate of some sort, though the idea of having a heavy entity on her back repelled her and the thought of popping out pups was disgusting. No, what she yearned for happened to be a female partner; someone sweet, fast, beautiful, like the wolf she now spoke to. She had come up fruitless in her search so far and hoped it would remain this way.

"Greetings," she replied in her sing-song voice. She began to move away, sensing what would come.

"Could you please tell us a story?" The female asked, taking a step closer and flashing the whites of her eyes in a sign of submission. "It's a lovely day for stories."

"I'm sorry, but I can not today. The weather is horrible. It does nothing for my inspiration at all. Good day."

Before there could be any objections, she was gone, weaving between rocks as she made her way further into the 'den bowl'. A small sound of disappointed sounded, but quickly mingled with the quiet chatter around her.

Why had she even come this far into the pack lands? Skreleen hated company. She lived for the independent life, free of whining pups and bickering couples. The stars had not called her here, but she felt as if she must. It was a current of electricity that had been running through her latest songs. She wanted closure. She needed to speak to someone with more authority. Maybe she could help.

"How now, tired of the play?"

Skreleen jumped at the voice, her long fur writhing with the movement. She had not seen Cyra on the floor of the closest den.

In her own classic sign of submission, Skreleen dropped her body to the floor and rolled her head to the side, exposing her neck. All wolves were expected to respect the higher ranking pack mates, but Skreleen always took it a step further. She uttered a high pitch whine, flashed the white of her eyes and lay back her ears. It was a more than painful move, but she felt great respect for Cyra.

This wolf was also alone as far as mates went. She was expected to run the clan while there was a lack of alpha with her beta counterpart. Skreleen had never had any interest in the beta (she even refused to learn his name), but the betess was a completely different story. Cyra was one of the few wolves Skreleen could truly tolerate. Her quiet and fierce nature made her extremely interesting, like a dead frog.

[Wren]

[Cyra]

OOC;;

[/color]I laughed SO HARD at the dead frog comment. Like, for ten minutes. I also apologise for this being so short-- I have school in a few minutes and need to get ready. :)[/size]

BIC;;
~Cyra opened one crystalline eye to witness the display of submission, her body lacking movement. So it was Skreleen who had entered, with her characteristic roll and whine. The female before Cyra had always been one to dramatise the factors of submission, especially when it came to other, higher-ranking females. Mayhap something had happened in the past, to cause her to do so?

Taking the other wolf’s health into account, Cyra raised herself from the stony floor and walked to her, nuzzling the lesser female’s neck softly, tail raised to the roof of the cave. In all honestly, she didn’t like the shows of dominance or submission within a pack structure; she preferred to be in the shadows, an onlooker rather than a participant. Her place as Betess was a rank given to her by the previous alphas, however, and that was an honor she could not throw away. Therefore, she would have to contend herself and deal with the displays of attention.

Taking a few steps back on her long, lanky legs, Cyra sat upon her haunches and gazed past Skreleen, outside of the dank cave. The sun was lowering past its highest point now; and the pack would need to congregate for the evening hunt within the next hour. She was not much of a huntress, more of a scout, but seeing as how Silmarillion was no-where to be found, the dark female might have t o take charge this time. But she was getting away from herself; she turned her attention back to Skreleen, eyes softening. She was not quite sure what to converse about; her social skills did in fact need some work, but the Betess was more than willing to give attention to the other female, if that was what she wished. Skreleen had entertained her on multiple accounts with stories and tales, and if conversation meant paving the way to repaying the fea, Cyra would do so.

“How do you fare today, Skreleen? As the weather, bright? Or perhaps a cooler collective, such as I?”[/size]~[/blockquote][/blockquote]

[Peach]

Ooc; I have no idea why I even wrote that comment!
I was just like "I feel like writing about a frog... Hmm..."
and, well, there you go. Smelly, yummy, dead frog.

As the betess stood to acknowledge her, Skreleen lifted her ears slightly and relaxed her eyes. They flashed back to their natural color, sweeping over the larger wolf's face appreciatively. Very few others got to experience this display of submission and none of them liked it. Unfortunately, it was a necessity for Skreleen, for this was how she displayed her affection and devotion.

After a few moments, she relaxed completely and stretched her back, still on the ground before Cyra. As subtle as possible, she continued scanning the face of the other female. Cyra seemed to be gazing off into the distance, tiny muscles in her face twitching at some unpleasant notion. It would be rude to question a wolf of higher ranking, so Skreleen left her concern unspoken.

"I do not like this weather at all," she said, a wolfy smile gracing her face. "It's much too bright and the sun is hard to look at. I like thunder storms and dark nights much better. It's hard to work when my muse is hidden."

She gazed up at the piece of blue she could see. The peak of the mountain blocked the sun for the most part, creating a dark shadow over a piece of land on the horizon.

"And how are you, Cyra?" The whites of her eyes flashed once more, apologizing for the question, if need be.

[RyeRunner]

OOC-May I join?

BIC-
A small,green leaf had been conked astray(By a red squirrel,who scuttled about briefly-then settled down to a catnap in a lower bow of the tree)-waltzing it's way unknowingly towards Hyk,who had been dozing absently in the shade of a lone oak.It landed once,twice,then trice as his breath billowed in and out-pushing and pulling similar to the familiar cartoon situation.However the last stroke of breath lasted a short second less,giving the leaf way to his black snout. With a snort,a cough,then a gag,Hyk was "rudely" awakened.

With a huff he went on a eager hunt of the villain,then spied the red squirrel.A pup-ish growl emitted from the depths of his throat.The offender!He must pay! He charged full speed at the looming tree,then leaped,falling terribly short,and bruising his snout.But his spirit would prevail-he would get the squirrel.He just needed a plan.

OCC-Sorry for the briefness- I'm short on time!

[Peach]

Ooc; I really hope this doesn't come across as brash
but your post was rather out of line as far as this roleplay
goes. If you are going to join a thread, please make sure you
stay on topic. You can repost your previous post as a new thread,
but right now this is a roleplay set in the dens of the Eyrie clan.

You can join in, but please make sure your character is staying in tune
with Cyra and Skreleen. Other than that, Hyk sounds adorable!

Thank you. =)

[RyeRunner]

Okay.

[Peach]

Ooc; Thank you for understanding, lovely.

-waits patiently for Wrenny Bear to return-