Post by senka on Aug 18, 2008 17:49:26 GMT -5
They called her a monster’s child. It was a surprisingly two-walker-ish thing to say, but any wolf looking at her knew that she was unnatural. The tuff of white on top of a pale milky skin shone like a beacon to anyone trying to ignore it, making her the only pup that stood out even in the dark. Pale skin seemed to be unnaturally soft, even for a baby, and so, so easily tainted as if she wanted to show the true colours of the deeds that will come to pass. Tiny hands always made to grab at anything that came near, wanting to touch, wanting to take hold even though larger hands always, always drew away from her eager fingers.
And then there were the eyes, the reason they already called her a monster. They were round, wide, yet seemed to lack any trace of mercy, only holding an obsessive curiosity for anything that came near. No pup had ever shaken off the veil of innocence so quickly; no pup had taken a liking to blood so soon either but the monster’s child had. Every time those blinking eyes would look at you, the lycans found themselves rooted on the spot by that single fix of her attention. There was strength in that gaze, a burning fire that didn’t sit well with those that followed the milder light of the moon. It was too raw, too intense and too likely to leave nothing but ashes. But she too followed the pale light coming from the moon for it seemed to touch her entire body, from the tips to of her white hair to the edges of her pale toes all except for the eyes, the only spot of colour. Red eyes. Monster’s eyes.
They called her a loner, because that is what she was. While the other pups messed around with their forms, with each other and mainly just creating havoc, the female explored, heeding the pull of her curiosity and already confident enough to be unconcerned about her safety. It was typical that she’d be so comfortable in her own exploring, her own world, but be seen craving another’s touch as well. The others of her age were also already claiming attention for a new litter was already competing but somehow she never seemed able to get much affection from the adult of her pack like they did. Of course, the others had parents to return to when the pack was in a general bad mood whereas her own died the moment she got off milk. Her father killed by a hunter, her mother because of something they would not tell her. They knew why of course, even if she didn’t but somehow she never asked why. As if she sensed that she wouldn’t like the answer, as if her chubby toddler mouth was unable to lisp the words passed missing milk teeth. It was the eyes, pleading childlike red eyes that made them shove her impatiently away when she asked for attention. They ignored even her pitiful whines and pleading looks that her puppy mind came up with to get some of what she asked for, she so craved after her first attempt had failed.
When born in an environment like that, one would learn not to ask too many questions even when she was yet to learn to be proud. But there where already traces of that very pride that would later distinguish her character, edging into her mind by the time she got shoved away for the who-knows-how-many- time, they could all tell. They could see the stormy anger behind that monster gaze; they could see the way her tiny lips already curled. After a while the pup simply stopped trying and learned to be on herself. Yet she couldn’t seem to stop rubbing herself against the other pups now and then, the ones of her nest and her age, the only ones willing to have contact with her pale skin. But even they learned to avoid touching her as the years went by…
They called her talented and dangerous. For their eyes seemed unable to tear themselves away of the blood shining in the little light there was, December; always dark but even more so during night time, tainting her perfect while fur that was slowly slinking. Slinking back into the skin that covered skinny limbs and petite feet but growing on her head so that it gently caressed her jaw, matted with blood but still soft to the touch. The talented one was always soft to touch, an irony when one took in the fact that no one wanted to and that she was the youngest in their pack able of killing. Not just the many rats that tended to break their necks when she was around, not just the rabbits whose guts soon sprawled as her childish fingers belonging to an eleven year old took hold of it, but a true kill. A human kill.
Their eyes were still unable to let go of her form even as she grinned, a bloody curve of a killer and one who had eyes to match, and carelessly asked for a rag of sorts to clean her skin. Her milky skin, her wet skin, her skin that, for the first time, matched her eyes and of which they could not tear their gaze, as if it was the first time they were seeing her. Of course the kill had only been a pup of the human community close by, she was not nearly strong enough to tackle a full grown but she had killed a two-walker and that was what counted. She failed to see why they were disturbed; they could see it in her puzzled expression as they drew away. Slunk away of the one who killed when she should not be able to, refused to touch the one whose grasp was already tainted, whose child-teeth were able to rip skin from flesh. Avoided her path as she moved to the alpha, expecting praise only to get disgust instead; disgust masking fear. They would learn to hide their fear in the coming months, learned to keep her lower then she should be. They had to; someone had to control the talented one. Make her ignorant as much of possible of her potential and keep her low-ranked and thus submissive. Keep her vying for attention of a kind that she would never earn. Because talent could be dangerous and so fear had to be masked and actions needed to be taken. She would never figure out why they hated her…
They called her cruel. She was well known for her little games, the playing with her food before eating. No one would ever have expected that one with such a milky fair skin would have such a dark, dark soul that slowly revealed itself more and more with each passing year. They watched, for they were always watching her even if she didn’t know it, as she darted in and out of sight of a hopeless young two-walker. A teenager like her but so much more naive and struck with love at first glimpse. They watched, always out of sight, as the young man’s eyes glazed when meeting her red orbs, mistaking the red of blood for the red of love. For one with such an unnatural colour the creature was surprisingly stealthy, managing to disappear from sight long enough for her prey to panic before moving in sight again, smiling faintly and eyes darkening with a cruel amusement none of her litter could match. A predatory kind of amusement only found in the foulest of their pack and in this single unnatural one yet to reach true adulthood as she lured the two-walker deeper and deeper with her disappearing and reappearing act that caught his attention until everything else disappeared from his mind…
Later on they would learn not to watch anymore. They would learn not to pay attention to the stray eyes seemingly spread randomly or the half buried arms they’d almost trip over. Nor would they ask how she killed the pieces of meat she’d later be spotted feeding to the pups…
They called her the watcher of pups because that was what they reduced her to. As hated creatures the entire pack was forced to live in secrecy, hunt rarely and only when the pull of aggression became too strong because the moon was. When it was full and round anyone old enough was allowed to come but someone would have to stay to watch the helplessness that were the pups. Every single time, after that first time that she had given some of her prey to give the pups a first taste of flesh and betrayed her interest in them with that action, did they choose the unnatural one to watch them. And every single time she protested, arrogant now that she was almost an adult. Proud, now she had finally learned to be. And sharp and intelligent as they liked to pretend, ignore, that she wasn’t; she had soon observed the others and realised that she was stronger. Her speed was no match for anyone in the pack, she was still the youngest to have ever killed for no other seemed to match her bloodlust and though her strength may not be as great as those of the males for a female it was impressive. But they reduced her to a pup watcher, afraid to let her unleash the fury they could see in that red gaze of violence. They reduced her to watching the pups because they were sure she would never hurt them. The pups were the only ones young, naive and instinctual enough to trust and let her touch them. And they did not flinch when her eyes landed upon them.
They thought her to be a wicked witch in wolf’s clothes. A creature with powers they had not, for not only did she master her wolf’s ones as easily as the rest she seemed to have woven a spell over the Alpha with an ability they had not, caught the interest of one who was a worthy choice in anyone’s standard. They could see his icy blue eyes following her movements, see his nostrils flare to get a better sense of her smell and saw the way his ears rose the moment red met blue. They couldn’t be more opposites, those particular two lycans. Black fur as opposed to white, blue eyes reflecting the red of her gaze, the mighty Alpha taking interest in a simple low ranked bitch who was so much more then she appeared, while he showed his true colours openly. They noticed her distrust, so beautifully played, as he began to seek her out more and more, even offering a daring muzzle now and then. And they showed their displeasure as she snapped at the alpha in a way that she, with her rank, was not allowed but the Alpha only seemed all that more amused. It was a testimony of the spell she must’ve woven over him how he refused to put her back into place, something he did so brutally and easily with the others, merely giving her ear a sharper nip if she went too far but even that was too sparse and gentle in their opinion. They were disappointed to see, not long after that, that instead of fighting of the spell he upped his spare touches in frequency and began to add nips and even a challenging lick to her muzzle now and then, openly vying for her attention no matter how hostile or disinterested she reacted. Finally the Alpha managed to make her follow while he leaded, letting her follow him into a dense part of the forest where their eyes could not follow. In the end she did not protest but followed, ears raised as hopefully as her tail, so unashamedly hopeful that belied the disgrace of the action. It was the Alpha who offered her something no one had ever thought to offer. Something they had hoped to deny her forever; pups.
And like any kind of pup he continued to be vulnerable to her spell. Like those pups he was far from disgusted by her touch. But worst of all was the fact that like the pups, the Alpha was not afraid to openly show the very affection that worried them so…
They called her a mother. Despite the oddity that even that single action carried, one that so many females before her had taken but an action they never expected her to make, they called her a mother because there was no point denying it. She had given birth.
One of the reasons it was odd because, as the unnatural beast that she was, she only gave birth to one boy; a pale freak of nature like herself. They watched as she licked it clean and showed its true colours that belied their hopes, only to relax into her human form and hold it close with a tenderness she never usually showed. Wicked red eyes seemed to hold that red her earlier preys had always so foolishly assumed to be there; love, and a tenderness that did not suit her. For indeed they didn’t think motherhood suited her, for with her rank she dragged her pup down. And like a bad example they knew her to be, she taught it to fight for himself when the others picked on him before it could even fight, taught him to be proud before he was old enough to understand what pride was. She failed to be a normal mother as she failed in everything and she failed to hear their advice as she always failed to hear them after she had taught herself to live in isolation of the pack. It was only the blue eyes that showed the Alpha in him, the only normal detail. Though perhaps, if one indeed bothered with details, the curl in which his hair sprung when he got old enough to grow it perhaps after three weeks or so was undoubtedly the Alpha’s as well. It looked ruffled, that pup, like his father always did and open for the world even in its second month. Weak, vulnerable and always protected by the slender arms of his mother; safe and content it disgusted them as much as his mother did.
This had gone far enough. Action needed to be taken before the curse of her white fur would spread. Before the entire pack was poisoned by that unnatural bright colour that was so ill suited for nature and became weakened. Action needed to be taken but paws were restricted under the tight order of Pack Law. One could only wait and hope…
They called her a traitor. They had seen the deep cuts running over the Beta’s eye, the gruesome deep wound that made him hold his insides in on his stomach when he stumbled back into their den. They saw her running past him seconds later, her direction towards her lonely pup that was already squeaking in search of her, too young to properly growl. They had seen her wounds, they had smelled her fear and they had drawn their conclusion once two and two were put together. And so they made sure she wouldn’t make it to her beloved spawn, forming a front that had her ears flattening to her scalp and her wolf’s snout wrinkling in displeasure even though she was forced to come to a stop. Aware of her strong form they nevertheless returned the growl, watching as the Beta slinked further into view while leaving a trail of blood and collapsed at a horrified Alpha’s paws. They did not miss the betrayal in that blue gaze nor did they miss the wrinkling of his snout as he snarled at her. The spell broke, a spell that was never cast over their Beta, never over them, and a howl of hurt filled the air. They weren’t sure whether it was the white one who did it, unable to reach her pup or the Alpha as he realised the terrible truth because of the bleeding form of his brother before his paws. But they were sure of one thing…
It was the Alpha that gave the order, even as the Beta struggled to breathe.
They made her flee. They growled and felt a hunger they had never before felt, one that didn’t have to do with feeding as much as hatred. And they watched as she abandoned her pup as if it was nothing, running to safe her own tail without a second thought without any trace of that instinct every mother was supposed to have. Her fur turned against her now, showing her easily without even the aid of the rays of their beloved moon. Her panting was heard, her fear, fuelling them until they weren’t sure when they started drowning her fearful whines with their louder howls. But speed was always on her side and though they were in advantage they could not catch up. Yet there was time, enough time and when locked on her scent, a unique husky scent so unlike theirs which in turn made it easy to track and they were determined to wear her out.
Her speed turned horrifying, unnatural as her appearance as branches wiped her head and making it turn but they did not see her slow. Further and further her paws carried her and try as they might, they could only keep up. How long was this going to last? How long until they could make their catch, make her suffer for the deeds against their loyal Beta? Her deeds against the very nature they’re supposed to be a part of?
It was only the sudden slope and the village that saved her, humans still had forces stronger then their own and with the moon so far away they could not dare and enter the two-walker realm. They watched as she tumbled, got to her paws and tumbled again. They watched her disappear from their sights and knew she would never return.
Her pup was theirs now, as she had been since birth. But her debt would not be fulfilled until her blood stained their teeth…
The pack called her Senka, meaning 'shadow' because that was what she was. A permanent spot of darkness that could not be erased, one that was always there in the corner of your eyes and always as unnerving as it was beautiful. Her dark soul, dangerously disguised in the brightest white that was unnatural, that always managed to unnerve. Tainting everything around her in black misery while being cold, and fleeting in nature and never sticking around long enough to see the chaos she created, only sticking around when there was still light to taint with her presence. That is what Senka was and would always remain even if she escaped the judgemental clutches of their claws.
Senka, a monster.
And then there were the eyes, the reason they already called her a monster. They were round, wide, yet seemed to lack any trace of mercy, only holding an obsessive curiosity for anything that came near. No pup had ever shaken off the veil of innocence so quickly; no pup had taken a liking to blood so soon either but the monster’s child had. Every time those blinking eyes would look at you, the lycans found themselves rooted on the spot by that single fix of her attention. There was strength in that gaze, a burning fire that didn’t sit well with those that followed the milder light of the moon. It was too raw, too intense and too likely to leave nothing but ashes. But she too followed the pale light coming from the moon for it seemed to touch her entire body, from the tips to of her white hair to the edges of her pale toes all except for the eyes, the only spot of colour. Red eyes. Monster’s eyes.
They called her a loner, because that is what she was. While the other pups messed around with their forms, with each other and mainly just creating havoc, the female explored, heeding the pull of her curiosity and already confident enough to be unconcerned about her safety. It was typical that she’d be so comfortable in her own exploring, her own world, but be seen craving another’s touch as well. The others of her age were also already claiming attention for a new litter was already competing but somehow she never seemed able to get much affection from the adult of her pack like they did. Of course, the others had parents to return to when the pack was in a general bad mood whereas her own died the moment she got off milk. Her father killed by a hunter, her mother because of something they would not tell her. They knew why of course, even if she didn’t but somehow she never asked why. As if she sensed that she wouldn’t like the answer, as if her chubby toddler mouth was unable to lisp the words passed missing milk teeth. It was the eyes, pleading childlike red eyes that made them shove her impatiently away when she asked for attention. They ignored even her pitiful whines and pleading looks that her puppy mind came up with to get some of what she asked for, she so craved after her first attempt had failed.
When born in an environment like that, one would learn not to ask too many questions even when she was yet to learn to be proud. But there where already traces of that very pride that would later distinguish her character, edging into her mind by the time she got shoved away for the who-knows-how-many- time, they could all tell. They could see the stormy anger behind that monster gaze; they could see the way her tiny lips already curled. After a while the pup simply stopped trying and learned to be on herself. Yet she couldn’t seem to stop rubbing herself against the other pups now and then, the ones of her nest and her age, the only ones willing to have contact with her pale skin. But even they learned to avoid touching her as the years went by…
They called her talented and dangerous. For their eyes seemed unable to tear themselves away of the blood shining in the little light there was, December; always dark but even more so during night time, tainting her perfect while fur that was slowly slinking. Slinking back into the skin that covered skinny limbs and petite feet but growing on her head so that it gently caressed her jaw, matted with blood but still soft to the touch. The talented one was always soft to touch, an irony when one took in the fact that no one wanted to and that she was the youngest in their pack able of killing. Not just the many rats that tended to break their necks when she was around, not just the rabbits whose guts soon sprawled as her childish fingers belonging to an eleven year old took hold of it, but a true kill. A human kill.
Their eyes were still unable to let go of her form even as she grinned, a bloody curve of a killer and one who had eyes to match, and carelessly asked for a rag of sorts to clean her skin. Her milky skin, her wet skin, her skin that, for the first time, matched her eyes and of which they could not tear their gaze, as if it was the first time they were seeing her. Of course the kill had only been a pup of the human community close by, she was not nearly strong enough to tackle a full grown but she had killed a two-walker and that was what counted. She failed to see why they were disturbed; they could see it in her puzzled expression as they drew away. Slunk away of the one who killed when she should not be able to, refused to touch the one whose grasp was already tainted, whose child-teeth were able to rip skin from flesh. Avoided her path as she moved to the alpha, expecting praise only to get disgust instead; disgust masking fear. They would learn to hide their fear in the coming months, learned to keep her lower then she should be. They had to; someone had to control the talented one. Make her ignorant as much of possible of her potential and keep her low-ranked and thus submissive. Keep her vying for attention of a kind that she would never earn. Because talent could be dangerous and so fear had to be masked and actions needed to be taken. She would never figure out why they hated her…
They called her cruel. She was well known for her little games, the playing with her food before eating. No one would ever have expected that one with such a milky fair skin would have such a dark, dark soul that slowly revealed itself more and more with each passing year. They watched, for they were always watching her even if she didn’t know it, as she darted in and out of sight of a hopeless young two-walker. A teenager like her but so much more naive and struck with love at first glimpse. They watched, always out of sight, as the young man’s eyes glazed when meeting her red orbs, mistaking the red of blood for the red of love. For one with such an unnatural colour the creature was surprisingly stealthy, managing to disappear from sight long enough for her prey to panic before moving in sight again, smiling faintly and eyes darkening with a cruel amusement none of her litter could match. A predatory kind of amusement only found in the foulest of their pack and in this single unnatural one yet to reach true adulthood as she lured the two-walker deeper and deeper with her disappearing and reappearing act that caught his attention until everything else disappeared from his mind…
Later on they would learn not to watch anymore. They would learn not to pay attention to the stray eyes seemingly spread randomly or the half buried arms they’d almost trip over. Nor would they ask how she killed the pieces of meat she’d later be spotted feeding to the pups…
They called her the watcher of pups because that was what they reduced her to. As hated creatures the entire pack was forced to live in secrecy, hunt rarely and only when the pull of aggression became too strong because the moon was. When it was full and round anyone old enough was allowed to come but someone would have to stay to watch the helplessness that were the pups. Every single time, after that first time that she had given some of her prey to give the pups a first taste of flesh and betrayed her interest in them with that action, did they choose the unnatural one to watch them. And every single time she protested, arrogant now that she was almost an adult. Proud, now she had finally learned to be. And sharp and intelligent as they liked to pretend, ignore, that she wasn’t; she had soon observed the others and realised that she was stronger. Her speed was no match for anyone in the pack, she was still the youngest to have ever killed for no other seemed to match her bloodlust and though her strength may not be as great as those of the males for a female it was impressive. But they reduced her to a pup watcher, afraid to let her unleash the fury they could see in that red gaze of violence. They reduced her to watching the pups because they were sure she would never hurt them. The pups were the only ones young, naive and instinctual enough to trust and let her touch them. And they did not flinch when her eyes landed upon them.
They thought her to be a wicked witch in wolf’s clothes. A creature with powers they had not, for not only did she master her wolf’s ones as easily as the rest she seemed to have woven a spell over the Alpha with an ability they had not, caught the interest of one who was a worthy choice in anyone’s standard. They could see his icy blue eyes following her movements, see his nostrils flare to get a better sense of her smell and saw the way his ears rose the moment red met blue. They couldn’t be more opposites, those particular two lycans. Black fur as opposed to white, blue eyes reflecting the red of her gaze, the mighty Alpha taking interest in a simple low ranked bitch who was so much more then she appeared, while he showed his true colours openly. They noticed her distrust, so beautifully played, as he began to seek her out more and more, even offering a daring muzzle now and then. And they showed their displeasure as she snapped at the alpha in a way that she, with her rank, was not allowed but the Alpha only seemed all that more amused. It was a testimony of the spell she must’ve woven over him how he refused to put her back into place, something he did so brutally and easily with the others, merely giving her ear a sharper nip if she went too far but even that was too sparse and gentle in their opinion. They were disappointed to see, not long after that, that instead of fighting of the spell he upped his spare touches in frequency and began to add nips and even a challenging lick to her muzzle now and then, openly vying for her attention no matter how hostile or disinterested she reacted. Finally the Alpha managed to make her follow while he leaded, letting her follow him into a dense part of the forest where their eyes could not follow. In the end she did not protest but followed, ears raised as hopefully as her tail, so unashamedly hopeful that belied the disgrace of the action. It was the Alpha who offered her something no one had ever thought to offer. Something they had hoped to deny her forever; pups.
And like any kind of pup he continued to be vulnerable to her spell. Like those pups he was far from disgusted by her touch. But worst of all was the fact that like the pups, the Alpha was not afraid to openly show the very affection that worried them so…
They called her a mother. Despite the oddity that even that single action carried, one that so many females before her had taken but an action they never expected her to make, they called her a mother because there was no point denying it. She had given birth.
One of the reasons it was odd because, as the unnatural beast that she was, she only gave birth to one boy; a pale freak of nature like herself. They watched as she licked it clean and showed its true colours that belied their hopes, only to relax into her human form and hold it close with a tenderness she never usually showed. Wicked red eyes seemed to hold that red her earlier preys had always so foolishly assumed to be there; love, and a tenderness that did not suit her. For indeed they didn’t think motherhood suited her, for with her rank she dragged her pup down. And like a bad example they knew her to be, she taught it to fight for himself when the others picked on him before it could even fight, taught him to be proud before he was old enough to understand what pride was. She failed to be a normal mother as she failed in everything and she failed to hear their advice as she always failed to hear them after she had taught herself to live in isolation of the pack. It was only the blue eyes that showed the Alpha in him, the only normal detail. Though perhaps, if one indeed bothered with details, the curl in which his hair sprung when he got old enough to grow it perhaps after three weeks or so was undoubtedly the Alpha’s as well. It looked ruffled, that pup, like his father always did and open for the world even in its second month. Weak, vulnerable and always protected by the slender arms of his mother; safe and content it disgusted them as much as his mother did.
This had gone far enough. Action needed to be taken before the curse of her white fur would spread. Before the entire pack was poisoned by that unnatural bright colour that was so ill suited for nature and became weakened. Action needed to be taken but paws were restricted under the tight order of Pack Law. One could only wait and hope…
They called her a traitor. They had seen the deep cuts running over the Beta’s eye, the gruesome deep wound that made him hold his insides in on his stomach when he stumbled back into their den. They saw her running past him seconds later, her direction towards her lonely pup that was already squeaking in search of her, too young to properly growl. They had seen her wounds, they had smelled her fear and they had drawn their conclusion once two and two were put together. And so they made sure she wouldn’t make it to her beloved spawn, forming a front that had her ears flattening to her scalp and her wolf’s snout wrinkling in displeasure even though she was forced to come to a stop. Aware of her strong form they nevertheless returned the growl, watching as the Beta slinked further into view while leaving a trail of blood and collapsed at a horrified Alpha’s paws. They did not miss the betrayal in that blue gaze nor did they miss the wrinkling of his snout as he snarled at her. The spell broke, a spell that was never cast over their Beta, never over them, and a howl of hurt filled the air. They weren’t sure whether it was the white one who did it, unable to reach her pup or the Alpha as he realised the terrible truth because of the bleeding form of his brother before his paws. But they were sure of one thing…
It was the Alpha that gave the order, even as the Beta struggled to breathe.
They made her flee. They growled and felt a hunger they had never before felt, one that didn’t have to do with feeding as much as hatred. And they watched as she abandoned her pup as if it was nothing, running to safe her own tail without a second thought without any trace of that instinct every mother was supposed to have. Her fur turned against her now, showing her easily without even the aid of the rays of their beloved moon. Her panting was heard, her fear, fuelling them until they weren’t sure when they started drowning her fearful whines with their louder howls. But speed was always on her side and though they were in advantage they could not catch up. Yet there was time, enough time and when locked on her scent, a unique husky scent so unlike theirs which in turn made it easy to track and they were determined to wear her out.
Her speed turned horrifying, unnatural as her appearance as branches wiped her head and making it turn but they did not see her slow. Further and further her paws carried her and try as they might, they could only keep up. How long was this going to last? How long until they could make their catch, make her suffer for the deeds against their loyal Beta? Her deeds against the very nature they’re supposed to be a part of?
It was only the sudden slope and the village that saved her, humans still had forces stronger then their own and with the moon so far away they could not dare and enter the two-walker realm. They watched as she tumbled, got to her paws and tumbled again. They watched her disappear from their sights and knew she would never return.
Her pup was theirs now, as she had been since birth. But her debt would not be fulfilled until her blood stained their teeth…
The pack called her Senka, meaning 'shadow' because that was what she was. A permanent spot of darkness that could not be erased, one that was always there in the corner of your eyes and always as unnerving as it was beautiful. Her dark soul, dangerously disguised in the brightest white that was unnatural, that always managed to unnerve. Tainting everything around her in black misery while being cold, and fleeting in nature and never sticking around long enough to see the chaos she created, only sticking around when there was still light to taint with her presence. That is what Senka was and would always remain even if she escaped the judgemental clutches of their claws.
Senka, a monster.