by Feint » 10/13/2008 5:02 PM
Kinte finished his peach and hid the pit, to plant later. He licked peach bits out of his teeth and looked up at Shula in a friendly way. His four tails wagged slightly, stirring up dust and road debris. He rose to his haunches and tossed the gold orbs in the air again, watching the bright flashes of the sun in the orbs. He was juggling mostly to entertain himself, as was chewing on his peach. Market Day was very dusty, hot, and rather boring to him, just another chore day.
ooc-- did this die?
My wraiths, though not wraiths then, wandered deep into the heart of the polar storm. They tried to fight sleep, naive to the inevitability of their fate. When they awoke, they saw before them my own self, so much a part of the ice and cold they almost fail to see me. I wear a crown of the coldest, sturdiest ice, and my claws and fur have coated themselves in it.
I stand aloof to the cold, for I have lived in it so long, been a part of it so long, it no longer concerns me.
My wraiths are cursed to wander the polar tundra, eternally freezing, following mortal explorers and trying to warn them with their presence that they should not travel onward, should not make the same mistake. But there will always be those who persist in pressing on, never knowing what they are doomed to face, or destined to suffer.