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Post by synchronicity on Jul 17, 2011 15:53:29 GMT -5
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Salnero…it had become little more than a prison and in a rather warped arrangement of depreciating logic he could not bring himself to mind. In fact, had he the gall to say so Nevan would have attested that the habitat alleviated many of his dismal thoughts due to the fact that it so greatly reminded him of his previous home. In outlying scrutiny a part of his conscience knew how terribly perverse that was for the only nostalgia he managed to conjure were those of pain and torment when associating the jungles of his past to those of his present. There had been nothing likeable about his prior disposition. Being a slave had provided him with no benefits that one could viably say were incentives to keep him there and that his escape from that nightmarish lifestyle had been a prudent decision. So why was it that the feeling of being trapped brought him such relief?
“This is just so messed up…” he hummed gently, eyes downcast and staring listlessly at the loam beneath his paws while he tried to determine whether or not his grip on sanity had slipped in the recent days. The male honestly could not begin to fathom what possessed him to linger in the forest comprised of strange foliage and elephantine growths that were enough of a deterrent on their own without the haunting awareness that the residence was claimed and occupied. Nevan, not one to mince words, was committing a blatant crime and had he been the wiser creature he would have stayed only for the night before resuming his aimless wanderings as to not risk discovery and a likely reintroduction to his former standard of living.
He would have liked to leave – or so he told himself as his tongue rasped over a turquoise hued forepaw. There weren’t enough inspiring memories to see himself making any active attempts at assimilating himself with whomever called the rainforest home, not because some whimsical stroke of naïveté was fond of the lush undergrowth and humid atmosphere that had once been the norm and had only in the last year become the exception. This of course was not the only factors to prompt the Lyxxus into seeking another location – preferably one that did not have an active canine assemblage as Salnero had. Logic was vinegar to his desires, a vitriolic sting to any misguided conception that those of these who prowled their territory would not be inhospitable to a ragged, hapless loner who possessed no defining skills aside from his subservience and tolerance for pain. His only usefulness would have been as someone’s porter and that was hoping for the best. With a depressing optimism Nevan did not think being a concierge would be any more a hardship than the imprisonment he had suffered in his formative years. At least had he been so fortunate to receive such a rank he would be of more use to his new masters.
Nevan had to shake his head of the abysmal thought pattern, reminding himself with dulling optimism that he was no longer inclined to refer to anyone as Master or Mistress – two titles that had seen him to safety on more than one occasion but would not longer be a necessity for his life as a vagrant. But old habits die-hard and the four-tailed male was beginning to lose ground with his internal struggle for normalcy, something that he had once given up on.
Licking dutifully at his other paw the wolf adjusted himself on the limb he had the foresight to investigate upon his arrival on foreign territory. The plants of this region, though frighteningly monstrous in size, was quite useful and provided him with the elevation he had not been able to achieve in his previous home. Here the boughs of the various species of trees could bear his weight and that of any small prey he happened to capture on his none-too-successful hunting expeditions. It gave him quite the vantage point were he to pay attention to his surroundings as opposed to the air of negligence and the disinterested gaze he swept over the dense wooded area. He couldn’t have seen much anyway all things considered. The forest was thick, abundant coverage by the overgrown flora prevented him from seeing further than a few feet in front of him and with no desire to descend from the moderate safety of his branch he had opted to allow his inattention to spawn this demeanor of laxity.
With paws outstretched in front of him, hind legs straddling the branch, Nevan looked absently at the remainder of the small rodent he had managed to dig out of its burrow. He’d been grateful for its size since he could rarely finish off a rabbit on his own so its diminutive stature did not make him feel as though he were wasting precious meat. Tiredly he sniffed at what was left, cringing away from it as insects darted in and about the unwanted carcass. With a sigh the striped wolf nudged it off his branch and watched its perilous fall to the ground with somber dispassion before laying his head across his paws, staring into the unknown and wondering absently how high he’d have to be to fall to his death.
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