Post by Picasso on Nov 29, 2014 1:37:54 GMT
Weary paws dragged through the thick snow. A skeletal, lumbering beast walked through the streets of the crumbling Hexasol. His eyes downcast as the snow fell heavily from the heavens above. It had been many years since he'd ventured into the belly of the old city, but his time was coming. Denim had no concept of how old he was now, but many seasons had past since his birth; he had all but lost count. He was not even sure how long it had been since Natiri's inevitable passing. Either way, he knew he was soon approaching his final days. His ribs protruded from his emaciated body, unable to keep a meal down anymore. Denim had outlived many, if not all, of his family. He could not remember the last time he had seen one of his siblings - not that his bloodline mattered. Much had changed in the past decade or so to Hexasol, and Denim was proud to witness it.
The Tempest Pack thrived as it always had. New Wardens and Mistresses came and went. They were no longer the bloodthirsty pack that had been built on hatred and vengeance. No, they were a family, who respected outsiders. Wars were no longer common and many of the animals lived in peace. Admittedly, the tension between canines and felines would always be there, but it was more accepted. The Iris Pride, however, was no more. It had died a timely death many years ago. Since Panja and Alexander's passing, the Pride were soon overthrown. Denim looked at the streets he walked and smiled fondly. He was strolling in what was once the heart of the Pride. His eyes gazed at the rubble of the hospital, felled in what felt like a lifetime ago, when he had been a small cub. Other buildings around him were beginning to crumble and fall as well, but the hospital still stuck out like a sore thumb. It was a reminder of the battles that had raged in the past.
Denim turned away from his birthplace and began to move out of the old territory. He was cold and so, inexplicably tired. Sighing, he shook his body of the snow that had begun to form on his thin pelt, before continuing his journey. His old, creaking body ached with each step he took, but the old lion soldiered on. As he walked, his mind wandered to his old family. Many of the residents of Hexasol had not grown up to witness the horror of the Iris Pride, or the battles that occurred between the packs, however that didn't stop Florence's name from appearing in conversation. She was a figure that was passed down from generation to generation in overly exaggerated stories. She became the boogeyman for puppies who would not behave. They would listen with apt attention as their parents related the stories that their own parents had told them, of the evil Florence. It was bizarre when Denim had first heard the stories, in which dogs claimed she had killed an entire army all by herself. Of course, Denim never mentioned his heritage. He hadn't breathed a word of his bloodline for many years.
However, despite Denim's family and friends being dead, that had not stopped him from trying to form some kind of bond with others. Surprisingly, the lion had bore cubs with another female several seasons ago. It had been on a whim, where Denim had questioned why not? It had not been for love; Denim's heart had been claimed by another female long, long ago. No, he had purely done it to stop the raging loneliness and boredom. They had a mutual agreement, and Denim helped bring up three cubs. Of course, Denim had adored them. He wasn't sure, but he may be the only lion within Florence's family to continue the bloodline. It had been well over a year since Denim had last seen his cubs, who were now grown up and old enough to make decisions and live on their own. As much as Denim had loved them, the bond between the cubs had been a struggle, and once they had been old enough, they fledged the nest. Denim couldn't blame them; he had done the same when he had reached of age.
The old lion was trembling with cold by the time he reached his destination. With crinkled eyes and a smile on his lips, Denim looked out at the train tracks. The slats of wood had all but rotten away from the age, with tall grass sprouting from the stones. However, before him stood a large train carriage. His heart warmed at the memory all those years ago, when a small, curious cub had wandered too far from home. When a young puppy was still blissfully unaware of the horrors of the world. Denim approached the train hesitantly. His memory was no longer as sharp as it had been, but Denim reckoned the train had rusted considerably since he'd last been here. Bending his legs, Denim looked beneath the train, almost expecting to see Natiri still hiding under there. Nothing. Denim tried not to feel disappointed as he wished his brain could have conjured up the image of his deceased lover.
Sighing, he bent his weary legs and collapsed to the ground, tired from walking. His stomach churned uneasily; it had been many days, if not weeks, since he'd last eaten. As hungry as Denim was, he knew it was too late to try to hunt. His body was weak and his heart was beginning to fail. He could feel himself beginning to fade away, and Denim tried not to be scared. He was no longer happy in this world; everyone he held dear to him were gone. He hoped for an afterlife - he hoped to see his beautiful Iri again. The snow continued to fall over his body, but Denim was too tired to shake it off of him. Instead, he lay with the snow acting as a blanket. He was no longer cold.
Closing his eyes, Denim felt the tug of sleep embrace him, and he knew it was time to let go. It had been a long life, perhaps too long for Denim's liking, but now it was time. There were no last words Denim wished to whisper. Instead, he let a smile grace his lips as he let out his last breath.
ooc: a little something I was thinking of last night and felt compelled to write. Denim was quite possibly my favourite character and I always wondered what became of him after this site died. I was hoping to sound more poetic than this, but I am tired, and I really wanted to write it. Either way, rip Denim <3
And yes, I'm using his cub posting table, but it was one of my favourites
The Tempest Pack thrived as it always had. New Wardens and Mistresses came and went. They were no longer the bloodthirsty pack that had been built on hatred and vengeance. No, they were a family, who respected outsiders. Wars were no longer common and many of the animals lived in peace. Admittedly, the tension between canines and felines would always be there, but it was more accepted. The Iris Pride, however, was no more. It had died a timely death many years ago. Since Panja and Alexander's passing, the Pride were soon overthrown. Denim looked at the streets he walked and smiled fondly. He was strolling in what was once the heart of the Pride. His eyes gazed at the rubble of the hospital, felled in what felt like a lifetime ago, when he had been a small cub. Other buildings around him were beginning to crumble and fall as well, but the hospital still stuck out like a sore thumb. It was a reminder of the battles that had raged in the past.
Denim turned away from his birthplace and began to move out of the old territory. He was cold and so, inexplicably tired. Sighing, he shook his body of the snow that had begun to form on his thin pelt, before continuing his journey. His old, creaking body ached with each step he took, but the old lion soldiered on. As he walked, his mind wandered to his old family. Many of the residents of Hexasol had not grown up to witness the horror of the Iris Pride, or the battles that occurred between the packs, however that didn't stop Florence's name from appearing in conversation. She was a figure that was passed down from generation to generation in overly exaggerated stories. She became the boogeyman for puppies who would not behave. They would listen with apt attention as their parents related the stories that their own parents had told them, of the evil Florence. It was bizarre when Denim had first heard the stories, in which dogs claimed she had killed an entire army all by herself. Of course, Denim never mentioned his heritage. He hadn't breathed a word of his bloodline for many years.
However, despite Denim's family and friends being dead, that had not stopped him from trying to form some kind of bond with others. Surprisingly, the lion had bore cubs with another female several seasons ago. It had been on a whim, where Denim had questioned why not? It had not been for love; Denim's heart had been claimed by another female long, long ago. No, he had purely done it to stop the raging loneliness and boredom. They had a mutual agreement, and Denim helped bring up three cubs. Of course, Denim had adored them. He wasn't sure, but he may be the only lion within Florence's family to continue the bloodline. It had been well over a year since Denim had last seen his cubs, who were now grown up and old enough to make decisions and live on their own. As much as Denim had loved them, the bond between the cubs had been a struggle, and once they had been old enough, they fledged the nest. Denim couldn't blame them; he had done the same when he had reached of age.
The old lion was trembling with cold by the time he reached his destination. With crinkled eyes and a smile on his lips, Denim looked out at the train tracks. The slats of wood had all but rotten away from the age, with tall grass sprouting from the stones. However, before him stood a large train carriage. His heart warmed at the memory all those years ago, when a small, curious cub had wandered too far from home. When a young puppy was still blissfully unaware of the horrors of the world. Denim approached the train hesitantly. His memory was no longer as sharp as it had been, but Denim reckoned the train had rusted considerably since he'd last been here. Bending his legs, Denim looked beneath the train, almost expecting to see Natiri still hiding under there. Nothing. Denim tried not to feel disappointed as he wished his brain could have conjured up the image of his deceased lover.
Sighing, he bent his weary legs and collapsed to the ground, tired from walking. His stomach churned uneasily; it had been many days, if not weeks, since he'd last eaten. As hungry as Denim was, he knew it was too late to try to hunt. His body was weak and his heart was beginning to fail. He could feel himself beginning to fade away, and Denim tried not to be scared. He was no longer happy in this world; everyone he held dear to him were gone. He hoped for an afterlife - he hoped to see his beautiful Iri again. The snow continued to fall over his body, but Denim was too tired to shake it off of him. Instead, he lay with the snow acting as a blanket. He was no longer cold.
Closing his eyes, Denim felt the tug of sleep embrace him, and he knew it was time to let go. It had been a long life, perhaps too long for Denim's liking, but now it was time. There were no last words Denim wished to whisper. Instead, he let a smile grace his lips as he let out his last breath.
ooc: a little something I was thinking of last night and felt compelled to write. Denim was quite possibly my favourite character and I always wondered what became of him after this site died. I was hoping to sound more poetic than this, but I am tired, and I really wanted to write it. Either way, rip Denim <3
And yes, I'm using his cub posting table, but it was one of my favourites
