Eyes Open Wide [Open]

[Dev'on Zarki]

It was chilly here. Especially up on the cliff where the wind buffeted his fur and tugged at his wings and lone antenna. The ex-performer had been traveling. Of course he had, Dev'on had been traveling all his life. Seen many beautiful places. Though he kept to himself and had yet to form any meaningful relationships. Dev'on wasn't even sure he was ready of any yet either. His scars ran deeper than the one marring his face.

Dark navy blue eyes looked out over the rocky edge. His paws were a good three feet from the edge, wouldn't want to fall and die terribly. The waves were strong today, as was the wind, and they crashed against the shore and rock face all around the curving beach. It was devoid of life, making it seem all the colder. He imagined what it would have been like if his troupe would have stopped here for the night.

One of the fire lupus' would have started a bonfire. The few pups their might have been would have been gathered round an elder performer, listening to stories of places the youths had not yet seen. Several wolves would have been practicing their acts while others still would be enjoying a nice meal buy the fire's heat. Dev'on would have been with his family most likely. Or showing off to the younger wolves and catching bits of fire off in his force fields.

Dev'on's throat tightened as the scene faded away. It was a dream, a fantasy, that would never be realize. Not with his old family. This place was beautiful regardless. But it would have been more beautiful still, filled with life. Dev'on was dreaming with his eyes wide open.

[raynor]

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[atrb=background, i1218.photobucket.com/albums/dd415/Somatra1/rback-4.jpg] "Speaking" It was indeed cold, but the Cael was used to the cold, in water and on land. The wind seemed to glide over his sleek, but thick, black fur, and gold highlights glinted here and there in it. He had come to the cove for some solitude, peace and quiet also. Something about the cliffs here reminded him of his cliffs at home, where his pack lived, the Centenna Accord. Lake Amarenthyst was where his heart was, but once and a while his mind and body wandered to the cove. Dad would of liked it here, very strategic... He thought absent-mindedly, surprising himself. Where had that come from? He hadn't thought of his stern father in a long, long time... Flashbacks of a time long, long ago filled the soldier's mind. A young Cael, fighting with others in an arena, practicing battle, always improving, learning... Top of the class of ten, praised for his stoic demeanor and pure skill in battle... While other Caels in his pack would travel by water, the stubborn male made himself walk the distance to improve his land legs so much, that it was barely noticeable he was a Cael... His father promoting him to soldier, his mother smiling in the distance... Fighting another pack in battle, and being the one given the honor to kill the head of defense of the enemy pack, his eyes pleading... And yet he had complied, just following orders, wasn't he? He shut his gold eyes, but the memories still came: That lone wolf, a female Caella with wide, scared eyes that had seen too much already. She was pregnant, with no mate in sight, and she had been trespassing on his pack's lands... Kill her! His superior had ordered, and he had stood his ground, come to her defense with a slow "no" of defiance. It had shocked him, but more so his pack... She had escaped with her life because of him, and he had never met her again. He did not know if she was alive of not as they had never met again, but he would never forget the grateful look she gave him before she ran.... And then the pack meeting that night: He'd known they were going to kill him, but still he came. His mother crying, his father stiff with distrust of his own son. His old friends and fellow comrades launching themselves at him as he ran, ran, ran to the river and then jumped in, swimming faster than he ever had before. Finally, exhausted, wounded, he came to shore, only to find his father's calm, deep green eyes waiting for him. Not a word was spoken as the older Cael walked away, but Raynor knew that it was the best and worst thing his father could have ever done. Did his pack members find out what his father had done? He didn't know, and he suspected his father never told, or he wouldn't be here today. Raynor blinked once, twice, and shook his head: Such memories only saddened him. He stood tall, quite large for a Cael, and resumed his walk, soon coming upon a Sennyo. He noticed the missing antennae, and large scar, but said nothing, rather looking him in the eyes. "Greetings, fellow traveler! It's a cold day, isn't it? But it's always worth the wait until summer." he grinned, and remained standing a few feet away.

[Plume of the Eagle]

For what it was worth, there was nothing truly like flight. Swimming was okay, difficult because of his wings, but nothing compared to flying. Absolutely nothing. The pureblood’s veins sang with pure adrenaline and joy, the combination both fire and ice in Plume’s blood, not cancelling each other out, instead joining together in harmonious multitudes.

His flight had not been affected by his healing wing much, the cold had, of course, brought a creak to the joint; but it was now gone, as was the morning chill that still existed down below. Plume’s ears flicked back to better stream-line his body, the air flowing over him in a beautiful flow. You could almost see the wind, a white whipping substance contrasting with his wings and body.

The Keiyou spotted the cliffs, a pack forming a little less than a mile away from their sharp edges, banking and swooping towards the beach, a serene smile on his calm and composed features. Plume half-closed his eyes, his wings pulling in and then sweeping up, the normal steps starting as Plume began to descend. He almost didn’t spot the charcoal wolf and the painted Sennyo until it was too late. Plume’s eyes widened as he neared them, having aimed to land right where they were.

On instinct, he let out a very bird-like shriek, the sound a bird of prey might make, his lips pulling back in a grotesque display of fear and strain. His ears pinned themselves to his skull, almost on his neck, his wings braking and swinging and changing directions so fast you could hardly see them. They adjusted and braked, and tilted and braked again, trying to slow him down and land him in the least jarring but most efficient and least-dangerous way.

“IIIEEE—IIIEEE—YAH!” Plume shouted, yelling oaths and apologizing as he neared them, the only thing that stopped his words was when he hit the earth—and rolled, skidding on his chest and chin before somersaulting and coming to a rest, spread-eagled, by their feet. He lay still for a moment, not speaking, but just barely breathing.

The joy left his veins as chemical reactions swelled in him, each vying for his attention—his almost-healed wing was now throbbing and bent—again, his forelegs and underbody were now scratched and bleeding and bruised, and he had bitten his tongue.