| Subject: .:|:.H.u.n.t.e.r.:|:. |
Author:
Shardul
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Date Posted: 14:10:00 07/25/03 Fri
In reply to:
Neca
's message, "Wow" on 12:16:57 07/25/03 Fri
slim figure sliped through the trees, worn paws dancing among the shadows which splattered elegant designes across her rather dull coat, which was as plain as the earth upon which she padded. ah life, a topic that could never be eluded, a battle that could never be won, nor lost for that matter. so many try to explain it, understand it, but really it was far too complex, and yet all too simple all at once. it could be descibed in one word and make as much sense as if it were defined in pages and pages of examples or stories.
just as every thing held a yin and a yang, life had its evil side. as Machete is to Khastin, as Scar was to Mufasa, so is death to life. the rotting flesh, the stillness, the silence. eerie and forbidden, feared and loved, welcomed yet rejected. she would say she did not fear death, but if she were to come face to face with her end, would she not shake and tremble? talk was cheap, almost all could say anything, lie and deceive. only the truth would be revealed when certain circumstances arrived. if life was not so precious, why not kill yourself now? life was oh so very precious, yet so was termination. if there was no afterlife what explinations were there for the mindless ghosts which milled about, unable to rest completely for they had been layed to peace all to soon? though she belived not in the afterlife nor rebirth, she did believe in ghosts.
souls are powerful things, the very life force and power that fuled everything around them. to trap a soul was in truth to carry out one's existance, one that should have ended. such raw power was intensely amazing, and it seemed doubtful that it could be extinguished. yet she knew it was all too true.
she believed she did not fear the blackness that would eventualy ingress upon her being and suck away this energy, for really she had come face to face with death already. she had been scared, but she had not backed away. the power, the ferocity was all so much that it did make her shiver, yet who would not? who would not scream if they were dragged into flames? who would not cry out for help when they see their own blood engluf them?
everyone was scared of death, but the difference lies in who is brave enough to face it. the coward woudl turn tail and run, seek existance at all costs, while the warrior would struggle to live, never give up, yet the warrior would not slink away shoudl their efforts prove futile. that was the line of seperation, a rather thin thread to place such conditions upon. perhaps the twine was ment to be thin, so that it could be severed with a single slice of even the dullest claw.
long, thin limbs propelled her lithe bodice forward. her pillars seemed to be mere bone, yet they were quite powerful. her entire frame was petite and rather small, almost like a walking skeleton with fur draped on. yet it was those who underestimated her who found that she was indeed muscualr. looks can be deceiving, and strength can come in many shapes and sizes. she was built for speed, made for silence, the perfect hunter, the ideal stalker. she walked so quietly some might think she did not touch the ground, but instead hovered atop it. so swift she could run some thought her to be enchanted. nay, her pace and her grace were not magic, merely attributes given to she from the hand's of nature.
motions stalled before the king, position low in respect to he. slivers of gold peered intently at he, her maw pursing to release a low, hissing voice.
greetings sire. out for a walk are we?
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