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All Welcome Lost At Sea (death)
Posted 12-31-2017, 04:24 PM |
in, lbs
Maybe it was just a spring cold, she'd assured herself, yet the sickness had clung to her body, making her tired far beyond her years. There was so much for her to do yet, so much. How could the gods be so cruel? Mucus drowned her, lungs overworking themselves and her heart thud-thudding in a way that only meant the end was near. Those peach eyes turned up to the setting sun, so thankful for the life she has lived and accomplishments she'd made.

"Is it because I left you?" she whispers into the edges of the dying pastels as they deepen to more embolden magenta and peach hues against the setting of the dark sky. Stars spill out above, perfect shimmering dots painted out over an ancient canvas. She lays beneath the stars, toes in the tide as its receded, withdrawn into the ocean. When it rises again, her body will be swept away. Lost to sea forevermore.

Labored breaths pull at her nostrils, part her lips. She is too young, too young, she thinks, to die. Yet there's Hoshiko's arms, somewhere just out of view, opening wide with the radiance of love and acceptance. There's a touch of want then, for the warmth of those arms, to run through the stars with her father, her mother, and enjoy their companionship once more. Her siblings, who, too, had been lost to her. Perhaps from the stars she could peek in on their lives, wherever they might be, or reunite with them. In these moments she's regretful.

Regretful to not have found love, to have born Clarke into a world where she might not know either parent, and for not carrying on in Wind when it had needed a strong leader to benefit it. For losing Haruko. Kei was kind, she was certain, though she had not met the goddess once. Each time she'd met a water wolf they were kind creatures, soft and gentle. Things she could never be again. How she tried! To be soft again, to be innocent again, but those days were long past and that child long buried. Would they understand?

All of them. Squirrel, Percy, Keston, Lyra, and Clarke? Would they even care? She is tired.

So tired.

It's the last of her energy, the last of her efforts, that rounds her lips and sends out an eerie how to the ink smeared sky as the last of the sun just kisses the horizon. She wants to say goodbye, but she feels her energy waning and doesn't know if she'll make it. But she loves them. Loves them all.

And they should know.

She lay her sand strewed skull against the shore then, letting the water lap up and kiss her bottom lip. There wasn't much more time. Not much more at all, until she departed this world.
Clarke Lyra @[Percy] Squirrel Keston tagging those who might want to say goodbye! Not sure if i'll post again before I have her account deleted!

Posted 12-31-2017, 04:33 PM |
in, lbs
The girl was so use to having spent so much time with her mother. though things had changed. Distance had grown; the bond seemed to be loosening as the girl had gotten older. Which made her heart ache. She doesn’t know what this feeling is but an instinct pulls her to shores; having a similar sensation to that of her new home. The home she had gone to in hopes of still being with her mother. The spring sun brighter than that of winter as the sands were warm once more. Yet something sends a shock of coldness through her body. Heart nearly stopping as she finds the figure of her mother laying in the water. It’s hard to breath as a distaste comes to her lips. Letting out the slightest of cries as she rushes to her side. Momma… this can’t be. No no no. Eyes closing as the young girl would try to work her way under her mothers head. Body getting wet from the water as she moves closer. Touch, she needed that. She needed her mother’s touch to soothe her. This was just a nightmare, right? It had to be. Should her odd attempt prove to be of success, her own head would find it’s way around the crook of her mothers neck. Nose in her salty coat to try to feel the warmth, take in the intoxicating familiar scent. Doing anything she could to grasp at the mother she knew. She is no longer a stranger to death, knowing what it looks like years before she should. Swallowing with pain against her throat as head turns to the skies. How could you… how could you do this. Was it for the fact they had left? What had her mother done to deserve a death so soon in her life…. so soon in Clarke’s life. She feels the light breath, so shallow. Her mother grasping and hanging in. It’s in this moment the girl doesn’t know how to feel as she finds an embrace in her mother. Just wanting to be with her as long as she could. Soft cries coming from her. Feeling pain, grief, and true loneliness for the first time in her life. It’s okay — I’m here. I love you. I love you so much, Momma. I’m here.


Posted 12-31-2017, 07:06 PM | This post was last modified: 12-31-2017, 07:16 PM by Lyra
Rebel ( Admin )
Rebel Wolf
Female, 4.00
30 in, 105 lbs
264 ep
© Ly
the call finds her dreaming--

splits the fabric of her technicolor slumber and makes her wake with choked cry, stripped of context but a sense of urgency and the familiarity of niyole's voice. and she thinks--at last; an end to the waiting for this summons; at last some closure, and a chance to see an old friend. (friend. if she allowed herself the luxury of such a thing for anyone, it would be niyole.)

but it's not the imagined scene that awaits her. like waking from a dream into a dream, the landscape changes without warning. she expects to meet honeyed eyes on the beach--star-strewn hair and pursed lips, awaiting an explanation lyra could not adequately give--but it's dark and the wind is biting, and the figure on the shore is unmoving. corpselike. her heart stutters. instinct propels her forward.

and better sense catches her. she holds back as clarke approaches, caught between her desire to see niyole one last time and the knowledge that she has no place in the woman's life, now. she had known another lyra: one capable of softness. time has serrated her. she can offer no comfort to the dying woman, only impotent rage and the dust of her humanity, the hollow cast of a heart corrupted by greed. it had been her last act of compassion to leave niyole without a word. why sour that parting now, but for her own selfish needs? expression flat, emotion flitting birdlike and uncertain in her eyes, she seizes upon the one thought that burns like an ember in the pitch of her mind: haruko let this happen. the gods had stayed a death before--she had heard the tale from the tongue of the man himself. but tonight the stars blaze distant and dull. no deus ex machina to pry the hands of fate from niyole's throat, only the steady roll of the tide, constant and eternal.

sister-queen. she would have slit the throat of any challenger; so the gods had sent the only one she could not face. (under farther stars their souls are together, suspended in the halcyon summer of their reign. preserved, as in amber, in the fleeting hope of a young girl. neither gods nor death could take that from her.)

a shiver chases down her spine, the last spasm of muscles faced with conflicting desires. she will not allow herself to be weak; that dies with niyole. nothing she could say would appease the wind woman or alleviate her own heavy soul. she turns her maw back toward the night, parting the darkness like a curtain to receive her and erase any imprint of her from this tragic tableau.

but something is unfinished.

she glances back over her shoulder, silvered iris solemn with thought, at the small form beside niyole. unbidden, a memory of the dying woman surfaces on her mind; i'm pregnant, she'd said, bluntly, as the world had turned to ash--fear in her eyes but iron in her voice. something of niyole lives on in her daughter. as lyra would in bast and deucalion. as her father lived on in her. (the weak parts, the rot and the hunger; an inheritance she could not deny.) and perhaps what lyra owed her for the way their affair had ended did not die here.

should she have need of a beast, she knows where to look. lips parting in a soundless snarl, she turns her back on the dying past and departs. her children await. loss will not trail after her heels like a black dog; the future is radiant and red.

Clarke Niyole

Posted 01-09-2018, 11:31 PM |
Storm Wolf
Female, 4.75
32 in, 100 lbs
294 ep
© Julie
After seasons of feeling lost, purpose had finally been breathed back into her life between caring for her children and preparing for the rebirth of her garden. Philippa kept herself busy, for idle hands made her anxious, and today she set off from Lightning Valley to visit the coastal regions of the east. There were plants that grew along the shoreline that would be beneficial in times of need, and since it was still early in the season, the wildflower knew she might be blessed with good fortune to transplant the native species into her plot back home. They would need tender care, as all of her garden would, to ensure they thrived under the conditions they were meant for. Nothing unusual about her routine could prepare Philippa for the sight she would stumble upon as she crossed through Serene Fields, blush-rose eyes set for the distant sea. As she came along the edge of Crimson Meadows, there was an anguished cry that lashed out at her and ripped through her heart with hooks and needles. Denial crept into the back of her mind—how long had it been since she last seen her sister? Surely this was merely a trick of the mind, a failing memory at the hands of overexertion and motherhood.

Yet despite the protest from her mind, there was something to be said about the power of relation, because while she surely felt this could not be true, so too was there little doubt in her mind as she moved forward with a grieving heart. Philippa was not yet prepared for another treasured soul to be ripped from her life so carelessly—had she not endured enough emotional harassment the past four years? Plagued by death, illness, and wayward hearts, the grand Izaak name was decimated to a few remnants scattered haphazardly through Doutaini.

Struck by the fear of what she would find, her legs felt heavy and she was immobilized while her mind tried to process what unfolded before her. There was a sense of lethargy clinging to her form as she finally urged herself forward, slow and agonizing steps working against the anchor that secured her to a place where nothing could be wrong. However, as distance eroded, Philippa recognized the crumpled form of her sister and a single soul at her side—a young woman, surely no older than a year. A tremoring sob racked her chest upon seeing Niyole and Philippa realized the folly of her denial, racing towards her sister with resounding speed. Unable to comprehend the scope of what was occurring before her, the wilted flower merely settled beside her sister on the opposite side of the young woman as regret and guilt sequestered her resolve. She could have healed Niyole and made her well again, if only she had known her sister had been ill—only if she had not allowed the petty troubles to come between their relationship.

It was something that would haunt her until the last of her days, but she could not allow her mind to think of that now—all she could do was cherish this fleeting moment. “My sweet sister.” Philippa whispered gently, lowering her muzzle to place a kiss at Niyole’s temple as their father had done so many times before. Tears overcame her in waves that challenged the might of the distant ocean, grief a far greater sea that was unrelenting in its enduring cycles.

Posted 01-10-2018, 04:46 PM |
Water Alpha
Male, 4.75
36 in, 135 lbs
809 ep
© Julie
Everything can change in a single instant—it was a truth Keston experienced on more occasions than he felt necessary, and today would be no different as the forbearance of grief came with a call. It was the voice of a dear friend, subdued by an ailment but carried upon swift winds towards the oceanic king within the coastal palace. All of a sudden, the world around him is a blur and he cannot remember what he was doing; all he knew was that he needed to reach Niyole, and without delay, he set off after her. Large paws drum against the beaches and waterways of the eastern terrain with thunderous accord, the distance between them closing marginally with each passing second. But the passage appeared to take a lifetime and his final destination a place that he would never reach. His nostrils flared and lungs heaved his sides drastically up and down, inhaling deeply the salt brine of the ocean that left his airways raw and agitated. None of that matter, however, he needed to reach her before it was too late—before the realization of what was occurring turned to truth.

Regardless of the wishes in his heart, Keston could hardly deny the truth staring back at him. His pace slowed as he inched closer to Niyole’s body, surrounding by her daughter and a woman he could hardly forget—Elizaveta’s sister, for they were nearly identical. The image still caught him off guard, but as he reached the three of them, he heard the words of the form wind woman regarding Niyole as her sister. Keston felt foolish over the number of times he happened upon Niyole and failed to make the connection—the proof that she was Elizaveta’s sister too was always there, staring back at him from earnest sunset eyes. “Niyole.” He called to her gently, mourning the loss of a friend and their future. He had always admired her for occupying a special place in his heart. He cannot help but wonder if, as Elizaveta’s sister, this was retribution by Kei for the desertion of her pack. It was a fleeting thought that dispelled when Keston came to his senses—the gods offered life, not death; there was always another explanation and as he searched his mind for some reasoning to her untimely death, he is revisited by those he had lost. Briar. Svana. His two stillborn children. Countless wolves that seemed to disappear from this world altogether.

There was no rhyme or reason to the pattern until the Lioncourt man found a connection—him. Everyone he cherished experienced tragedy and sorrow; was he cursed? He had always tried to live by virtues and reverence the existence of the gods, so Keston could not imagine it was something he had done or said that brought upon this curse. Perhaps it was something he was born with, a trait ingrained into his genetics like the color of his eyes or fur—an anomaly meant to balance out the world. What other explanation made sense? Niyole had been in perfect health when she came to Water as far as he could tell, and now after being under his leadership and care, she suffered an untimely end. The warrior backed away slowly from the scene, muttering a quiet ”I’m so sorry”. But he could not bear to leave his friend so soon, and despite the easy choice of running from his problems, his heart reached quietly out to the gods for guidance and reason.