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Post by D'Artagnan on Sept 26, 2007 10:59:00 GMT -5
There was little fight left in D'Artagnan, one of his large paws moved slightly, but nothing else. His eyelids seemed to be made out of lead, impossible to open without strain.
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Post by Sicarius on Sept 26, 2007 17:14:15 GMT -5
Sicarius laid down next to D'Artagnan, her head gently resting against him. "I won't leave you." she swore. Around her the battle raged on, but it was invisible to her eyes. All that mattered was to stay here. Just for a little while.
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Post by D'Artagnan on Sept 26, 2007 18:39:28 GMT -5
Struggling in his uncounsious existances, he felt something. THe warmth spread through his body, and calmed him. His racing heart relaxed and shallow breaths became a little deeper. all the alert and anger seemed to lift slightly at this touch.
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Post by Sicarius on Sept 26, 2007 23:41:40 GMT -5
"Please come back to me." Sicarius whispered, her voice no longer harsh but filled with sorrow. "I need you here." All around her the two packs were entwined in battle, snarls and whimpers seeming far away. Together, they lay on the soft ground. One light the other dark.
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Post by D'Artagnan on Sept 28, 2007 14:25:38 GMT -5
When heroes fall, Sorrow lives. A final period in the story is written when the last breath is inhaled. The book is shut as the heart ceases to throb. But lore forgets heroes. Its unfortunante, but some fall between the cracks.
Heroes defy nature; They take a stand and never let there defences drop. But someone always takes down the hero.
The death touches everyone in different ways, some rejoice while others soak in sorrow.
Even the strongest of minds become weak at the thought.
Even in the hottest desert, you can feel the rain come crashing down.
The clouded sky roared, releasing a small army of rain to fly down upon the droughted Darkwood. But yet, it seemed like it was only that part of the whole area. Soon, the dirt ground was dark as the soil gulped the water. Shay'tan stopped, feeling a rain drop on his nose, looking up he watched rain fall from the sky, hitting his pelt and turning brown from the dust on his body. Soon, he was glossy and wet from the rain.
The sound of it colliding with the ground was deafening, adn the rain fell so quickly it was like a sheet infrlont of his face, blinding him. The smells of Darkwood, still strong in his nose, didn't wash away, but what he didn't smell was D'Artagnan.
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