|
Post by Cricket on Oct 1, 2007 15:59:31 GMT -5
Cricket tilted her head, lemon-yellow nose tilted heavenwards, her attentice stare acknowledged the sky. The pasty clouds froth across the soft blue, the sun shifted and danced behind the clouds now and again like a bullfighter taunting the bovine.
She sighs. The act does nothing to sooth her slight depression. The exhalation does nothing more than make her feel empty. She hadn't seen the face of another wolf for ages. She had tracked a packs that day, by a river, but the trail was faint and fragile, and with her fever her scent was slightly shot. Cricket shook out her coat from head to tail, ears flapping, and pauses. Perhaps, the pack had gone back to the river. Where else can she go? She trots back to the waters edge, and looks to the other side.
|
|