A Walk Down Memory Lane (Bristol WofH)

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[atrb=background,http://i55.tinypic.com/rmk7cy.jpg] Darkness. Something that normally wouldn't bother a strong and brave wolf like Bristol but tonight there was something odd about the darkness that loomed throughout the foggy graveyard. While most other creatures were smart and avoided a sepulcher like this, Bristol wasn't most creatures which would explain why he was lingering in the cemetery on an evening like this particular one. Large golden tinted paws moved silently through the shortly cropped grass that spread throughout the graveyard while tall weeds grew up around the tombstones. The bright light blue eyes of the golden orange canine scanned the unusually dark sky above where he stood. Most of the time, Bristol was a particularly hard wolf to read but on this rare and strange occasion anyone would have been able to see that the male was confused and a bit on edge. Bristol felt the fur along his spine begin to stand on end as he continued through the graveyard searching for something that was invisible to him. All he knew was that something had drawn him here tonight so he had come. Stopping in his tracks, Bristol froze and his ears lowered against his skulls as shadows danced over and around headstones before disappearing, only to reappear once more and begin to taunt him again. White dagger like teeth slowly became visible as the canine glanced around nervous once more. Suddenly, the fog seemed to envelope him and it wasn't long before he couldn't see anything. His ears pricked and swiveled while his nose scented the air to try and find a way out but there was no escape, that much was clear. Panic began to slowly take a hold of his body and he felt his powers starting to want to kick in and he had a hard time push them back. When the fog didn't subside, he seriously considered shifting into his hawk form and trying to fly his way out of this ungodly fog but just as he was about to shift, a familiar voice came to him in the fog. At first Bristol shrugged it off, guessing he was just hearing things or going crazy but it wasn't long before the voice came to his orange tinted ears once more. His muscles tensed and he pinned his ears back, trying to find the source of the voice but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't place it. At first the words were inaudible but the more it spoke, the clearer they became as if the one who owned the voice was getting closer. Frustration began to claw at Bristol as he struggled to find the source of the voice and identify who was speaking. But his frustration didn't last long because all of a sudden he realized who the source of the voice was. His mother. It was as if he was in a nightmare. His mother was dead, there was no way she could be speaking to him right now. He couldn't talk to the dead, that much he was one hundred percent sure about. So then how was his mother calling his name right now. Trying to reason through it, no clear conclusion came to mind and when the voice came once again he gave up on using reason and turned to face the way he thought the voice was coming from. Ears pricked forward and light blue eyes staring into the thick fog with desperation, Bristol began to run through the fog, weeds grabbing at his fur and loose rocks tripping him as he went but he ignored them, pushing on as the voice continued to repeat his name. Desperation began to build up inside of him and his chest started to ache as it seemed like he would never find his mother in this fog. And just as he was about to give up hope, the dark silohette of a female wolf could be seen in the distance. A sudden smile broke out across Bristol's face as he altered his course and sped towards the shape until he was almost upon it. Just as he was about to see his mother again, a bright flash of light blinded him and everything went dark. Disoriented and unsure what had just happened, Bristol kept his light blue eyes squeezed shut, scared that the bright light would still be there instead of his mother. All was silent for a long while and sadness began to well up in Bristol's chest when the voice too had stopped. But then, as if it could read his mind, his mother's voice rang out in the air once more loud and clear. It spoke his name and hope crept up his body, filling him with warmth. Finally, Bristol dared to open his eyes and was relieved that the bright flash of light had disappeared. Instead he was in an underground den like the one he had lived in when he was just a pup. Confusion crossed Bristol's features and he stretched out his limbs and turned his head to gaze around his surroundings only to have to turn his head away as a circle of bright light shone down onto him. Blinking against the sudden brightness, Bristol slowly rose to his paws and climbed out of the den and stepped out into the sunlight. When his eyes had adjusted to the brighter light he was able to realize where he was. He was home. His light blue eyes scanned the area and he caught sight of a couple of wolves a little ways off, one of them he recognized as his father, Slingshot. Anger and hatred immediately filled his body as he remembered what his father had done to his mother but before he could take a step, his mother's voice filled his ears once more. Pricking his ears up, he turned his head to see her. He felt like his life had purpose again. She had been the sweetest wolf anyone could ever meet. She would have done anything for anyone and always had such a big heart. But how could she possibly be here right now? She was dead. He had witnessed her being murdered right in front of his eyes. His own father had killed her. And yet here she was coming towards him as if everything was still the way they use to be. It was only then that he realized he was his normal, full grown self. His legs were long and lanky, baby fur still clung to his coat in itchy clumps and when he searched deep inside of himself for his powers, they weren't there. He was a young pup again. But how was this possible? His brain instinctively went through all of the possibilities but the only real probable one was that he was dreaming. He hadn't dreamt of his mother in quite some time and he wasn't about to run this chance to spend with her whether it was a dream or not. Turning towards his mother's voice, his eyes finally looked upon her once more and a smile crossed his face as she padded towards him with an equally warm smile on her own face. Throwing a quick glance over his shoulder to see his father conversing with a small group of other males he remembered from his puphood. They had seemed kind and would play with him and stuff but his own father had seemed kind until something in him had snapped and he killed his mother. Suddenly tons of thoughts began to flood Bristol's mind. Like why was he the only pup that lived with his mother, father and the group of other males? Didn't she wolves normally have more than one pup? Confusion crossed his face once more but he shoved those thoughts back as his mother reached him. There was no way he was going to ruin this. He wanted to spend as much time with his deceased mother as he could, even if it was only a dream. Plus none of those things mattered now did they? His mother was dead, his father had run off after he had gone crazy and was probably dead as well. As for the other males that were a part of their pack, he was never really close with any of them so them disappearing after Slingshot's mental breakdown wasn't that big of a deal. Though one would think that they would have cared about what happened to young Bristol at least somewhat, right?

word count; 1438
tags; slingshot & avalon
notes; this was a lot longer than i thought it was going to be!
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[Glaciers are Cold]

[atrb=width,500,true][atrb=height,580,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=style,background-color:#27322d;-moz-border-radius:7px;-webkit-border-radius:7px;border-left:5px solid #111614;border-top:0px;border-right:0px;border-bottom:0px;] • • Slingshot ! • • it's all about the eyes of greed that carve a life, never see the last petal's fall, never think about the gray edges of the knife They were all around him. Why? Why must they plague him so? Those drifters, those wolves of mist and ice, twisting and galloping through air that meant nothing to them. He meant nothing to them, so why were they there? Slingshot shook his muzzle, twisted garlands of scarlet-rose fur twirling with the light breeze. His claws absently shredded the light grass as he nodded along with the conversation. "…And so he come up to me, this great big giant of a wolf, and y'know what he say t'me? He say 'Oh look you old guy, what'cha doin' here? Prolly stealing my food!' And y'know what he do then? He claw me! A swipe and he kill—" "'You fool!' I said to her. 'You nearly knocked me off that cliff!' And she said, 'Well guess that what I been meaning to!' And she just shoves me off! Like that—" The words swirl and jumble, inserting in here and there, like a complicated mess of a jigsaw puzzle. Slingshot heaved his chest as he took in enormous pockets of air. Stay calm, stay calm. His eyes closed for a fraction of a heartbeat before he tuned back into the conversation he and the other wolves were having. They were a motley bunch, strong, well-muscled wolves chatting like there was no yesterday. They laughed and guffawed and all sorts of silly things wolves do when they know it only takes a split second for them to be on each other with murderous intents. It was so easy to just turn around and slay your best pal. So easy to ambush those who brought you into the world. So easy to skewer your own kin with your own claws just because they cracked a laugh at your sudden bout of clumsiness. It was dangerous living, so why not feign a feeling of cozy and warm friendship? Now all of the wolves were staring at him. The crimson-tawny Fighter breathed hard, his mind struggling to push out unearthly thoughts and regain consciousness of his surroundings. Last he recalled, they were discussing fighting tactics. So he tried, "Oh yeah, always best to corner them to a side, block off all escape then close in for the ki—" But they just stared at him. And stared at him. Now he was confused, was that not—? A sudden caterwaul of noise erupted. The ghosts. Again. "Stupid, they were talking about how to win over the females YOU IDIOT!" Slingshot's fur tingled all over with humiliation. A prickle of laughter rippled over the crowd, and he mumbled hurriedly, "Excuse me, I must attend to my son." He stalked off, tail dragging, dirt accumulating on its fluffy blood-dark furs. His ears were pressed to the sides of his muzzle. What was wrong with him! Why could he never act appropriately in polite society? He trudged along, back to his den. Perhaps the sight of his 'son' might cheer him. Although, recently, even that novelty seemed to wear off. Bristol was awfully moody lately—and why was that? He wondered. Normal growing-up moods? He recalled his stubbornness back in the days, and a twisted smile crossed his lips. Where was Avalon, that sneak of a she-wolf? He had to make sure none of the other males glanced at her beautiful body more than they needed to. "She's been with your friends you know, your so-called friends," a sly voice whispered in his ear. "I don't wish to speak with you," he growled back. But the unearthly voice was persistent. "Face it. She don't love you anymore. Your… son…" "I said—!" he began to hiss back, then stopped as the image of his rose-hued son appeared before him. He quickly smiled with relief. Bristol, that adorably cute fluff of a quickly maturing wolf, only glared at his father. Slingshot was almost taken aback by the seething hatred in those cold eyes. His own golden ones flashed briefly but he forced that smile back. It glittered with hidden menace no matter how much he tried to contain it. "Bristol," he said calmly. "Where is your mother?" Freak of a mother, what had he ever seen in her? There was once a time when he loved her so dearly, he loved her to death, more than that. She was his and that was all that mattered. But they had no pups, and they found a small bundle of pitiful fur, and she said to him she loved him and— "Ah but did she?" That soft croon came again. "Did she reeaaallly love you? Or was that all a disguise. What do you really know of her? What do you really know of love?" Curse those spiritual beings, always tugging onto his every thought, his every doubt. "I thought! I had said—!" Heat rose in his fur again, and he glanced worriedly at Bristol. This was too much trauma for him. What with a sneak of a mother and a lunatic father… Swiftly, he approached him, his tail tenderly touching his adopted son. "Sorry dear, go run off and look for your mother would you? I have some… ah.. business to speak with her." Not that it mattered what he ordered Bristol to do. That momma's boy always ran off to Avalon anyways. It quite disappointed him that his own son showed no sympathy—no care!—for his beloved father. Why was it that everyone hated him? "They don't hate you, stupid," yet another voice cut in brusquely. A shudder passed through Slingshot. "They hate your mate, Avalon. Best you kill her and get over with it…" Kill Avalon. Kill Avalon. Avalon was the problem here. She stole his son. She got his pack mates all riled up. She was why… She was the reason for everyone's hatred. A world without her meant a son who loved him, a pack who looked up to him, a carefree world. She didn't love him, and without her there would be love again. And happiness and all those wonderful things that happened when evil was banished. And to banish evil, he must kill. Avalon. "Yes…" And suddenly, it was as if a cloud of twists and turns and darkness had settled over Slingshot's mind, clutching it and seeping through the crevices of his thoughts. He quickly planned his mate's death. Violent strikes perhaps, a quick shove off a tall cliff, poisoned meat… Countless solutions ran through, scrolling to immeasurable lists and lengths. So many ways to kill, so easy too, why had he never thought of this before…? The ghosts attempted to help him decide. "Just slit her throat and be done with it!" "'n ambush work beau'ifully." "Beat her senseless! That's the way to it!" Yes… He was liking this more and more. Kill. Avalon. He practically lunged at his son and he hissed, "Bring her to me! Now! Hurry!" The whole world seemed to darken then. It was no longer that beautifully baby-blue day. Mist plunged over everything. The sun vanished behind a wall of enveloping fog. Shadows darkened. Wolves shrieked. The air tightened its grip about. Everything was chaos and madness. Every soul screamed of vengeance and hatred and murder. They ranted on and on, well into the day. And Slingshot screamed with them. He yearned for this, this final battle against the evils of his mate. She was no wolf. She was a demon, a vile thing, a raunchy thing! He must eliminate her—exterminate her! Now! Slingshot suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of invincibility. He would not fail like half the scrawny spirits that tried. He would succeed. He would kill his mate and be done with it—a hero. Kill and be heroic. He could imagine it now: his son's limitless love and care for his aging father, the envious looks intertwined with respect from his pack, just everything! He was getting worked up now. He was going insane. He was tensing up for the coming battle. His mind was calculating her death. He was in madness's realm now. He was going to kill his mate. And he was going to succeed. He was he was! And he tried to concentrate on his plan—his revenge!—but all that passed through his mind was: Kill. Avalon. Words 1380 && Tags Bristol and Avalon && Ooc Haha I went insane trying to make my post match your word count! I failed but whatever.

[Surreptitious]

The meadow was a beautiful place today. The flowers were getting scarcer as it got closer to summer, but the grass was an emerald green and there were lots of little clovers popping up. Avalon had her blue eyes fixed on a patch of clovers, she wanted to find a four leaf clover and bring it back to Bristol so she could lighten up the mood before she told him he was adopted. She scanned the patches all day, she had practically looked through the entire meadows. She stopped before looking around the meadow, even though it was a very nice day, the air had a smell to it, the wind seemed to carry despair. "I'm just making this up in my head" she chuckled to herself, trying to shrug it off. Though she made herself think differently she found herself looking around more and acting more paranoid. Everything had been wrong since Slingshot had been acting differently. He had been treating her like she was the worst thing the pack could have ever came across, he had once even hit her saying she'd be the death of the pack, then less than an hour later he had come up to her and apologized and licked her apologizing over and over. His mood swings were starting to throw her off.

Avalon went back to clover hunting, within an hour she's found one. She slowly picked it then set it on a rock. She was so pleased with herself and was hoping Bristol would be too, no matter what she told him. she could almost picture his blue eyes sad and his orange firey pelt shudder, she imagined him running away from the pack, lost forever. "I need sleep" she sighed then rolled onto her side. She needed to have happy, positive thoughts for what was to come later.

Word Count: 310 Words
Tags: Slingshot, Bristol
I tried to type more but this is what I came up with.

[firework]

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[atrb=background,http://i55.tinypic.com/rmk7cy.jpg] Slingshot came over to Bristol and he knew that he shouldn't be acting like he hated his father because he didn't hate his father, well at least he hadn't hated his father when he was young. But it was hard for him to try and pretend that his father hadn't killed his mother. Bristol knew he had to be in some sort of crazy flashback dream because he was reliving the day his mother died. When his father told him to find his mother a sudden idea flashed through young Bristol's mind. Could he find his mother and save her before his father found her? It was far fetched but he was going to try it. His mother had been the only loving wolf in his life and he didn't want to let her go. Not now that he was with her again even though he was stuck in his youngster body. Spinning around, Bristol thought hard about where his mother would be. It wasn't long before he remembered that she had been taking a nap in the meadow the day his father had attacked her. Running as fast as his little legs could carry him, baby Bristol took off towards the meadow. It seemed like hours but he finally reached the edge of the meadow. His light blue eyes looked out into the tall grass and clovers desperately, searching for the familar white coat of his beautiful mother. He remembered how both of his parents always told him that he had his mother's eyes and his father's strength. At the time, Bristol had loved the fact that he was a little like both of his parents but now he wanted to be nothing like his father. His small sides heaved with the effort of the run and he sat down in the trees that bordered the meadow, taking deep breaths to try and calm himself down before he went into the meadow in search of his mother. Surely his father couldn't have gotten to the meadow yet. Bristol had left him in the dust just moments ago. But the terrible memory of his father's jaws bloody with his mother's fresh blood flashed through his mind once more and he rose to his paws once more, stretching his head up to try and see over the top of the tall grass, hoping she was there. The meadow was a dangerous place for a little wolf pup to be by himself though and he remembered his mother never letting him go there on his own. Hawks could scoop a little one up as quick as a flash. Or enemy wolves could attack a pup without thinking twice. Standing up on his hind legs, he continued to search the meadow for his mother, preparing to call out for her but froze in place.

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[Glaciers are Cold]

[atrb=width,500,true][atrb=height,580,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=style,background-color:#27322d;-moz-border-radius:7px;-webkit-border-radius:7px;border-left:5px solid #111614;border-top:0px;border-right:0px;border-bottom:0px;] • • Slingshot ! • • it's all about the eyes of greed that carve a life, never see the last petal's fall, never think about the gray edges of the knife His son practically seethed—no, vibrated—with hatred for his father. His poor father who had the misfortune to sire such an undesirable—no. No, Slingshot reminded himself, fortunately for me Bristol is not a true son of mine. Neither biologically not adoptively. "Ah… yes. Kill the son if you must. If he gets in the way." Slingshot stopped, horrified. "No… I can't—kill—him. He's my… son," he choked out. Madness. "Ahaha, you jest, he is 'not a true son of mine' you said! You deny your own words? Your own instincts, your own intuition!?" A rumble of aggressive agreement sounded from the other spirits, who were pressing against him though he could not see them. They seemed to tighten some invisible and metaphorical noose about his thick neck. No… His mind spun around, tentatively testing all the rainbow of twisted ideas. Twisted ideas and a twisted heart, and they all belonged to a twisted little wolf. He played with the idea of cold blooded murder, slashing the back when she wouldn't see. He toyed with the thought of senselessly torturing her with his words, fear and everything would eventually succumb to madness. He laughed suddenly. Murder! What a funny thing. So… easy… He laughed at the ghosts who had been killed, whatever the method, whatever the motive. They were fools! Their murderers were fools! They didn't know, the capacity a wolf had when his mate had deceived him but no: he would deceive her! It was domestic trauma. "Crooked she-wolf and a crooked male, and they all lived together in a little crooked house," he murmured to himself. Indeed. He was surprised. The ghouls had been strangely quiet. Their mutterings had faded away into void. Perhaps, he mused, his taunts had offended them? Somewhat likely, ghosts could be sensitive little things. "Hello…?" he muttered quietly, staring around as if mist would suddenly materialize before him. He sighed, anger and hatred fueling his adrenaline once again. He must kill Avalon! And yet… some of that passion had leaked out, it was… flat. He shook himself. No! Concentrate on the task at hand! Slingshot sprinted off, lean legs sighing with pleasure as they stretched and creaked. He had no notion of where his mate would be, but he did know Bristol was no longer to be trusted—that look he gave me, I don't think things will ever be the same, he thought—and he did remember that there was a very gorgeous and bright pasture Avalon loved to frolic in. The meadows had no other name; their beauty was credulity enough for them. He hastened off, feeling a sense that he was yanking on a long string of spiritual beings, like a kite yearning to take flight into the bright aqua-blue of the sky. The thick-bodied male had no idea his son was racing for the same direction, the very place he was forbidden to venture. He did not know to what great lengths this son knew, and to what he would do to protect his mother. He did not know this, and yet he felt an uneasiness about him as his paws landed on smoother, grassier turf than the choppiness of uneven hilly terrain. "Hurry, hurry," came the whispers from either side. Hurry. And he hurried, although he was forced to slow his train-wreck pace as he approached his mate's most tender and beloved hollow. It was a little thing of a rocky surface, with a million clovers speckling the earth. Vines and other greenery helped brighten up the spot as well. Slingshot remembered well the last occasion on which he approached Avalon with intent of harm. She had once criticized his behavior of prohibiting his male pack mates from seeing female companions, saying they needed some relaxation in their lives. Slingshot had brusquely refused, firmly believing that females would only distract them from their work. When Avalon had slyly wondered aloud what was she to him, his anger spilled over. He… had struck his own mate. It was an ugly business and a shock to both him and her. He had apologized, yes, tears streaming and sobs desperate. He stuck by her side while she recovered, and remained there for some days. But then… it seemed she had lost interest to him. Suddenly: paranoia. Was she looking at that male for too long? Why is he so happy after leaving Avalon's den? Where is that blasted mate of mine, and why are one of the other wolves missing? Slingshot had no proof of any attraction between her mate and the others, and yet, and yet. He roused from his memories, sullen. There she was, in all her glory, her dangerous beauty, her deceptive looks. All spread out among the clovers and ready to be killed. He walked up slowly, a crooked grin swiping his face. His claws were menacing daggers, jaws clamped like a bloody lock. He stared at her, wondering: Does she know? Words 827 && Tags Bristol and Avalon && Ooc Crooked Little House poem <3

[Surreptitious]

Avalon dreamt of Slingshot attacking her, she saw snapping jaws fly past and her ears and she startled herself awake. She sat straight up breathing heavily and staring at her paws, it was bleeding she must have hit it on a rock when she was dreaming, she'd been known to do that. She licked the blood away and saw a fairly big gash she whimpered and licked it some more. she put some weight on it, testing the strength of it, it hurt to step on and she yelped in pain "Damn it" she muttered under her breath. Her head shot up and her ears perked up when she heard something, she shuttered as a breeze went by and she sniffed the air, the breeze carried the smell of Slingshot. She sighed in slight relief though she sensed something was off.

She stood up favoring her paw and put the hurt paw on the four leaf clover so it didn't blow away in the wind. then she sniffed the air again, she turned to the direction of Slingshot's scent.
"Sling!?" she yelled "Are you there?" she asked knowing very well he was there, her belling did a flop and she knew something was wrong, she held her ground though, to not show fear, lately it seemed like Sling was feeding off fear, and if he was going to attack, she didn't wanna give him strength she thought to herself. Then she shook her head sling wouldn't hurt me, sure he's been different, but he wouldn't hurt me on purpose she convinced herself. She relaxed her body and waiting for him to approach her.