Fall Like a Stone //* nalia and open

[Glaciers are Cold]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=style,background-color: #d4d4d4; width: 450px; -moz-border-radius-topright: 30px; border-radius: 0px 30px 0px 0px; border-left: #7E6F8C solid 6px;] { we're all quietly wishing, baby, And when that fury breaks loose from it's chains, and the words come out, and the anger washes over like rain. When the knife hits the point, when it's too late to take it away. What would you do then, my dear one? Just leave and go astray - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - n i f t h

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=style,background-color: #d4d4d4; width: 140px; border-left: #7E6F8C solid 6px;] TAGS To be for Nalia and anyone else. WORDS 752 NOTES I purposely began and ended the post with the same word just because. Um haha yeah…

[atrb=style,background-color: #d4d4d4; width: 308px;] Loneliness. All peace and quiet. "Loneliness," the wolf breathes, his tongue rolling as if the word is some delicate delicacy. He experiments with the word a few more times, deciding it is now his favorite. He sighs softly, and looks at the clear air before him. His ash-dark eyes trail upwards, almost as if he can see the sigh floating along on gossamer fairy wings. The sigh is a beautiful thing, is the next thing he decides. He then turns around, eyes marveling at the luscious scenery around him. No. He shakes his head, clearing it of the remaining fragments of dreams. Now it is a barren world on which he stands. Nifth takes slow steps forward, his paws kissing the grass-spun world ever so gently. A soft lullaby plays in his mind, and he pauses. Is it a dream or a memory? He has so little memories that he surmises it surely must be some dream he has invaded. And indeed it vanishes as soon as he completes his dream-ridding exercises. These typically consist of him concentrating hard on something in the earthbound world. Or if in dire emergency, using his dagger-sharp claws to shred his fur into reality. Painful but effective? Most certainly yes. It is moorland upon which he walks. There is a tangle of sun-kissed grass springing along the dirty trails. Maybe a few cream-and-peach flowers caressing the fringes as well. Tiny pinpricks of bees hum quietly to themselves as they hover over the blooming buds. Small waves ripple over the tall-grass, some uneven as pale mice scurry underfoot. And here and there are scattered the remains of what once must have been a magnificent human construction. Now reduced to pitiful rubble. The earth-toned Nifth stares at the ruins of the human stronghold, his eyes devoid of expression. He approaches one such great, slate slab almost hesitantly. He stands there, studying its every crevice and scrap of gilt paint. So many stories written into this, he muses, his eyes mere inches away from the peeled monochrome. So many tears, so much pain… He is not sure how he senses this. Indeed he cannot be certain it is true. But all great works are monuments to the sweat and labor it took to construct them, are they not? This could not possible be an exception. Unexpected fatigue begins to ail him. His paws are suddenly heavy and awkward, his eyes drooping, his bulging muscles weary. It is as if a spell of the mortar has been cast upon him. He softly closes his eyes, seeing nothing but a cool blackness. His sides sway until he tumbles into a slump, and quietly, he slips into the dream realm. Oh he fights it at first. Dreams are the burden of his life. They are the curse of his birth, pouncing on him when he least has notion of it. His great weakness, his great bane. But enemy conquers enemy, and the pain subsides, and the images come alive. There. Soft ivory-white down cascades lightly down his fluffy back. The entire world consists of cream, causing him to stand out like a broken claw. Torn, ragged clouds tumble down to the ground; the sky is suddenly bare and dark. Is this a nightmare? he wonders. A she-wolf, brilliant and beautiful, approaches. Another, a runtling of a wolf, bounces to the dirt nearby. She is a hazel-umber hue, but scars ripple across her fur. Her bones protrude outwards, ribs so deathly prominent. "Do I know you!" Nifth calls out. He blinks in confusion, and suddenly the world lurches and he is gazing at a kohl-black symbol of a mysterious origin. Thick blades of grass tickle his nostrils, and the side of his muzzle is chilled from the stone. The dream is gone, the strangely familiar wolves banished along with it. He thinks he has seen this dream before, this hauntingly familiar dream. The wolves. Are they his fami—He chokes. Let's not go there. Instead of probing sorrowful scraps of memories, he looks around and wonders where he is. What is this place? His dark eyes inhale the sights of an expansive river of grass and greenery. There is stone and rocks everywhere. How did they come to be here? he ponders. Did they just fall out of the sky? A deity. Pushing the rocks to their deaths. Gravestones perhaps? His thoughts chase each other in pointless circles. Then he shivers. Not a soul around him. And all he can think is: Loneliness.

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[Nalia]

Sometimes she wondered.

She wondered what this place once was, how it got made, and how it got to be like it was. The place was haunting, a place that she hated more than a lot of things, and yet, it drew her. Sometimes she found herself here, whether she truly wanted to be or not. She truly hated this place. There was a vast emptiness to it, an echo of something long lost. Sometimes when she closed her eyes, like she did now, she could feel the emotions of those of the past. Of those who walked on two feet, instead of four.

She reckoned this use to be a den of some sort, but not a den like the others. The stones beneath her paw were different, smooth and weathered, but not from streams. And the structure was odd. Parts of it towered to towards the sky, like the yawning of jaws in the early morning. But then there were parts that were sunk into the ground, like they were trying to be one with the grass. Parts of it were crumbling, and she could sense the dangerousness coming from it. Or maybe it was just this place.

This place use to be a save haven, Nalia was certain of it. There were remains of warmth, of a feeling of safety, that she could pick up through her empathy. This place use to be someone’s home. Blue eyes opened and she gazed about, her gaze both sad and irritated. Nalia wished she could go home. Go home and forget about this place. To never come back here. To not wonder what had happen here, and what gave this place a dangerous air.

It was a mystery.

The Martyr Alphess hated mysteries.

Soundless paws led her to wander, stepping lightly on the strange stones, eyes wary. Some called her paranoid - she called it caution. Nalia was not one to take surprises very easily, or lightly for that matter. Serious and somber, Nalia wasn’t the type to let things go very easily. Wryly, she admitted that it was probably that very stubbornness that had her coming back to these ruins, over and over again. The black wolf shook her head at herself. “Nalia, you can really be a fool sometimes,” she murmured to herself, pushing herself on top of a pile of rocks.

Movement caught her eye, and instantly she was alert. Her mother had pounded lessons deeply into her head, so deeply ingrained that they were part of her. Watch your back. Look twice. Don’t take things at face value. They were lessons she could not ignore, even though her mother was long dead and buried. It was automatic for her to narrow her eyes, prick up her ears, and take everything in. After a moment, she relaxed slightly. No danger. Just a packmate. One of the Fighters, Nifth.

If she was to be perfectly honest, she really didn’t know Nifth very well. Then again, she really didn’t know very many wolves very well. It wasn’t that she was aloof from her pack, no. There was very little she wouldn’t do for her pack. It was just, with her sharp tongue, and naturally quiet personality, it was harder for her to relate to others. Nalia tried, of course, with varying amounts of success. But at least she tried. For a long moment, she remained where she was. Then, footsteps almost soundless, she leaped down and approached the tan male.

“A funny place to take a nap, don’t you think, Nifth?” the coal coloured wolf asked quietly, as not to startle the male.

[`` Noon]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,5,true][atrb=width,557,true][atrb=height,349,true][atrb=background,http://i55.tinypic.com/9k4681.jpg] "Hail speaks." | Hail thinks. | Hail does. It was odd, this place. Different. Stone layered upon stone, only to be brought down. Perhaps its oddness was what drew Hail to it. The air around was cool, soft, hinting at the power it could have. Hail was never sure why she had certain feelings about the wind. It calmed her, in a way, its winds feeling like a security blanket on top of her mask of indifference. Like my mother, Hail thought vaguely. Flowers the color of the moon and apples combined dusted the area with color, as if sent from the Gods above to make the human settlement seem less dreary. Hail thought it didn't work. Maybe it was just her, but the settlement made her uneasy as if something would jump out and attack her any second. Yet the unease it brought was curious. Icy eyes scanned the land, a mixture of scents catching her nose. The one that clouded her nose most was the flowers. It was a sickly sweet scent, strong enough to make Hail curl her lip in distaste. No one was there, of course, so she had no reason to keep her mask up. Two barely visible shapes, one tan and the other coal, became clear in her eyes. Seamlessly, her face became devoid of disgust. Something akin to a mixture of friendliness and cautious respect gleamed in her eyes. Of course, it was all something she put together. Most of the things she showed weren't as sincere as one who truly possessed such feelings, but Hail tried her hardest to appear sincere. After all, she wouldn't want to disappoint daddy dearest. She observed the two wolves, the male laying and the female standing. They appeared to know each other, but Hail couldn't be sure. They had a similar scent, most likely from one of the packs. The female spoke softly, “A funny place to take a nap, don’t you think, Nifth?” Hail staid a good distance from the two, but close enough to hear. Not wanting to appear as an eavesdropper, she came closer, a slight hint of curiosity in her eyes, deluding the mixture of friendliness and respect. "What do we have here?" she murmured faintly, as to not let the other two wolves hear. Words: 376 or so ;; Comments: Ugh, short post is short. Oh well.

[Glaciers are Cold]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=style,background-color: #d4d4d4; width: 450px; -moz-border-radius-topright: 30px; border-radius: 0px 30px 0px 0px; border-left: #7E6F8C solid 6px;] { we're all quietly wishing, baby, And when that fury breaks loose from it's chains, and the words come out, and the anger washes over like rain. When the knife hits the point, when it's too late to take it away. What would you do then, my dear one? Just leave and go astray - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - n i f t h

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=style,background-color: #d4d4d4; width: 140px; border-left: #7E6F8C solid 6px;] TAGS Nalia and Hail WORDS 700 NOTES No but really, he actually thinks love is a disease, like the black plague or something.

[atrb=style,background-color: #d4d4d4; width: 308px;] Winter is a chill, a mask that shields the earthen world from the shackles of space. It consumes, it destroys, and despite its formidable cover, it vanishes. So too does loneliness, or at least factors that cause it. Having just reflected on his lonely state, Nifth struggles to his paws and stretches. It is then that he realizes he is wrong. He is not alone. Not anymore. He has heard the slightest crackle of a husk of a dried grass, and it cannot possibly be the wind. No, the once-battering wind had long died down; only a soft breeze stirred the waves of greenery but not powerful enough to produce any sound more audible than a low whisper. Nifth's ears strain. Nothing. Where is it? he wonders. Is it really there or am I just dreaming? Whether or not the crackling noise was in dreams or reality, he sees a dark but elegant face staring into his own. His jaws go slack; his eyes bulge to match his muscles. He finds himself standing up taller, using his unusually massive stature to his advantage, looking down at the female. A strange smile graces his lips but he dares not say anything. He knows that talking to this exquisite wolf would result in him stuttering like a newborn. So he remains silent but grins that half-idiotic grin. But then she of the ashen beauty speaks. Her voice washes over him like glassy seawater over a smooth stone. Mercy on me, what do I do? A frown creases his not un-handsome face as he mulls over this. I need to say something. But what! Be a gentleman though, none of that coarse talk. But don't sound un-interesting, oh no whatever you do don't bore her! Nifth regrets being so awkward around females. No, it isn't really that. He is simply uneducated in communication in general. It is hardly his fault. When the lull of dreams is as strong as his, time easily passes away, drifting and sliding into the next day, and the next day. When was the last time he had seen his family? A year, or a day? Forever, or never? Oh dear he has forgotten the beautiful she-wolf waiting patiently (or so he hopes) for him to speak. He is frozen on the rock. How long has been there, gaping at her wordlessly? A millennia? He peers at her from ebony eyes. She doesn't seem so flustered from the silence yet. He makes a guttural noise in his throat, stalling for time. A mumble bursts out, and he quickly dips his head, indicating that yes, he agrees he has odd sleeping habits. But did that really require her to point out so? Unless she was making tiny tal—no, 'small talk' was the phrase these days. Oh no oh no, he must really be coming off as exceptionally rude. "Yes ma'am," he whispers, his voice hoarse from the severe lack of use. A soft prayer of a voice swoops down with the breeze. Nifth's eyes linger another moment on the wolf, and he murmurs, "Do I know you? You are so beau—Ah I… I mean, um, beautiful weather isn't it?" He is horrified. He does not where that 'you are beautiful' came from. Disease! Plague! It has come upon him suddenly, this strange twisting and grinding of the heart. What is it? Is he—dying? Then he turns from her and stares almost appraisingly as a creamier she-wolf approaches. Goodness, another one? What a lovely chance to further embarrass himself. A stricken look passes fleetingly across Nifth's timber face. He gropes desperately for words. This newcomer is quite pretty, but just a common attractiveness, nothing to really gravitate such a dreamer as Nifth. But her words echo some other underlying emotion, and the male Fighter feels gracious enough to summon up a reply. "I—Yes, I am Nifth, and—" He pauses, his eyes curiously pointed at hers. A bubble of laughter forms deep in the crevasses of his throat. Has he suddenly become attractive to females now? All his life and he only sees the shadows cast of the opposite gender. Why so many femmes trailing him now?

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[Nalia]

Time weathers, time destroys. Nothing could stop the passing of time, as much as one wanted to. She supposed that one day, not even the packs would remain. Time changed things, whether she wanted it or not. Her gaze rested on the area around them. This once must have been a beautiful thing, she decided. But all things must come to an end. That included everything from the day, to a life, to a certain emotion. Nalia let her gaze fall upon the wolf in front of her, remaining silent. She was not one to waste words, as words were one of the most precious things she had.

In some ways, Nalia had surprised herself. She was not one to just but into others business. Nifth had looked content by himself, dreaming. Truthfully, Nalia preferred to keep to herself. She simply didn't know how to relate to others. Her mother thought other ties made a wolf weak - even her father had been seen as a weakness. Alios had drilled it into her head very early on that she had to be the strongest. Others were just tools to use and throw away. Some were more useful than others, true, but all were tools.

But that wasn't true, she reminded herself. Nalia had watched that belief die with her mother. Nalia's empathy, the power to sense others emotions, had made it impossible for her to see others just as tools. They were real wolves, with feelings and motives. Nalia had done her best to reach out to her pack now. It was hard. Sometimes she was frustrated with her lack of success. She didn't mean to be cold, to be cynical. But it was hard to escape the grips of the past. Especially when it always came back to find her, to haunt her.

But Nalia wasn't one to give up. Nor, it seems, was Nifth. She didn't mind the silence - in fact, when he spoke, it startled her. She didn't really think it was rude, though when he spoke, she smiled at him, blue eyes warm. She didn't know him all that well, and really wasn't surprised that he was awkward around her. "But this place is beautiful, though, so I can understand it." she said, tail twitching slightly.

The question didn't come as a surprise, not at all. The black wolf sighed softly, her breath like butterfly wings. "My name is Nalia, the alphess." she introduced herself gently. The compliment - for the you're beautiful part was hard to miss, even with his cover up - threw her for a loop. She didn't view herself as beautiful. In her eyes, she was too small, too delicate-looking, and her blue eyes stood out too much for her to be considered a beauty. She honestly didn't know what to say - congratulations Nifth, for flapping the unflappable Nalia. So she ignored it, simply agreeing with him. "It is, isn't it? I love days like this." she remarked, turning her attention from him to the sky.

She smelled the other female before she saw her. Eyes flickered over to the cream coloured femme, and she cocked her head to one side. She didn't recognize her, but that wasn't a surprise. She didn't smell like any of the other packs, and Nalia concluded that it must be one of the loners that lurked about. With a flick of an ear, she indicating that she should come forward. Nalia looked at Nifth. "This place seems popular today." she remarked with a smile

[`` Noon]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,5,true][atrb=width,557,true][atrb=height,349,true][atrb=background,http://i55.tinypic.com/9k4681.jpg] "Hail speaks." | Hail thinks. | Hail does. Hail's ears perked more than they were originally, the squeaks of the brown male making her mind swirl with various thoughts. Her main one though was obvious: Why is he stumbling over his words? It can't be that hard to form a straight sentence. When his eyes swiveled towards her direction taking in her appearance, she took a tentative step back. A breath she hadn't know she were holding escaped her when his attention went back to his ebony companion. Her composer rebuilt itself in a matter of seconds. The first reaction in her mind was: What the hell? Where had that tense surprise come from? The dark female's velvet voice broke Hail from her thoughts. She observed the two for a while longer until she caught the movement of the female's ear. Does she want me to come to her...? she wondered. "This place seems popular today," the dark femme said. As if taking her cue, Hail walked somewhat hastily toward the two, though her mind was more than hasty. What do they want with me? Why should I even come up to them? They smell of some pack--for all I know they could be plotting to kill me. Then a single, small memory made its way the ocean of caution. "Calm, pup. Not everyone is out to get you," her mother use to say to her cautious nature. Calm, Hail thought somewhat bitterly, Calm. Words: roughly 237 ;; Comments: My shortest post here I think. ;-;

[Glaciers are Cold]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=style,background-color: #d4d4d4; width: 450px; -moz-border-radius-topright: 30px; border-radius: 0px 30px 0px 0px; border-left: #7E6F8C solid 6px;] { we're all quietly wishing, baby, And when that fury breaks loose from it's chains, and the words come out, and the anger washes over like rain. When the knife hits the point, when it's too late to take it away. What would you do then, my dear one? Just leave and go astray - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - n i f t h

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=style,background-color: #d4d4d4; width: 140px; border-left: #7E6F8C solid 6px;] TAGS Nalia and Hail WORDS 780 NOTES A little twist in the plot, haha!

[atrb=style,background-color: #d4d4d4; width: 308px;] And the shadows come to life, and they slip between the realms, and they dance and sing, and a feast… And Nifth sees this feast, this splendiferous feast of tender chunks of rabbit and a delicacy of lamb thronging the center. And he sees the other wolves, their perfect bodies marching in perfect unison as they bear the bones of a good haul. And the bones! They are pure ivory, maybe vanilla streaks, but no yellow fringes. The meat upon them is stringy but just enough, and tender, but not overly so. And the taste! It is juicy and sweet when it is needed to be; thick and crunchy when it is not. Melt-in-the-jaws swirls and flavors like spices. His mouth drools as his indigo-dark eyes inhale the sights. Then it vanishes in a cloud of ash, leaving Nifth to cough in despair. He looks around wildly, desperately. Where is the magnificent feast? his confused thoughts ask. His eyes peer around. There is a sea-garden of grass and mocha-brown stones arranged like chocolate. The scent of wolves is nearby and he glances around. His heart tries to go into reverse mode, and his paws in forward. The result is him getting tangled among the golden weeds. Another dream! Not another one! he thinks. Nalia! The earth-pelted wolf swiftly turns to her, his eyes immediately reverting from looking at her beauty. Something about her has caused his dreams to trigger, and while he appreciates her looks, he is not totally comfortable with the aura she suggests. Then he begins to wonder about her powers, could they be affecting him? Very possibly. His maw opens to inquire, his rows of fangs unconsciously quivering in their sockets. Nalia seems distant, her eyes glazed as she stares at some faraway scene. Something seems to destroy the beauty of her eyes, some deep scar slashed in, something evil. It is almost as if she is gritting herself, bracing herself for some past thing. Nifth looks at her with concern, not noticing that her attractive looks and sweet smell have drawn him closer, so close he is an inch away from brushing her fur. And he can see the individual strands of veins entangling beneath her clear, frost-blue eyes. She herself seems unaffected, rather, she is surprised. She says something quite nonchalantly but Nifth is in no condition to hear. He has been trying to ignore the presence of her as she seems to be luring him back to his dreaded dreams. Then he hears: "…the alphess." And then his fur spikes up, his tail fluttering down. He backs away; his flowing pale-oak fur grows paler; his deep-coal eyes darken. "Nali—" he gasps, hastily plunging his muzzle downwards to the tickling grass in a sort of bow. His fright is evident upon his face. "I'm so sorry I had no idea," he murmurs, surprised he could manage a coherent sentence after that shock. He sidesteps away, his eyes shifting to her even as he turns elsewhere. She is so pretty though, he observes, as if he believed the presumption that an alphess must be ugly. But really he is disappointed—no, shattered. He instantly imagines every wonderful thing about Nalia and squelches it. He cannot love her! Can not! The she-wolf he has seen earlier hastens over to them. He looks at her. She is a bit drab-looking. Gray furs paint her body, and biting blue eyes give her a hardened look. She is not of his pack, perhaps a loner. But all the better. If he can't have Nalia, maybe she could be his only escape. Especially now that Nalia is here, and distracting him. If he threw himself at this new wolf's paws, perhaps he would be cured of his love for Nalia. He ponders this. Hm, sort of stupid, but maybe it could work. Nifth forces himself to brighten up as the pale she-wolf approaches. He forces his fur to flatten. He forces a twisted smile on his face. And he forces his jaws to open wide enough to say, "H-hey, you're really really p-p-pretty." He feels bad for proclaiming false love, but wouldn't death at the paws of Nalia's mate, the alpha, be much worse? So thus he forces his paws to lurch forward to greet the stranger. He beams at her, something that seems odd on his usually desolately blank face. In fact, this whole day is odd, who is he kidding? Except, of course, himself. And he realizes, how much better is this than the plague of dreams? He has been hurtled out from one nightmare and gone shooting straight back into another. No escape, my dear. No. Escape.

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=style,width: 458px;] template by ayu of ote