Hi there, so this is my first story posted, so i feel its kinda special to me, please review and rate,
thanks to Courtney Gears, who inspired me to get an acount, so go check her out too, she awesome
i dont own the wolfblood concept, whoever made that show that i am addicted to is the owner.
So, i hope you enjoy.
Blacken
The moon rises slowly over the blanket of midnight blue and quicksliver, as a lone, ragged howl is heard over the quiet and silence. Running. Chasing. Hunting as one with the ancestors of the past.
Blood rushes through the veins of the wolf, as his heart races as he speeds across moors and vales, turned crimson in the Bloodmoon's wake. Faster. Faster. The wolf sped across the border between sovngarde and the mortal world. Hunting, as one, with the clan to which he belongs. The bleeding hearth, the bleeding hearth, from which mystic creatures cantered far along trails of trembling moonlight.
The promise that he keep, never shares and never speaks, to his grave the secret shall go. The voice of his spirit, The voice of his hunger and pain.
As sure as the night lowers itself into an array of hues, showcasing the harsh light in some crude glory, The orange tinted wolf turns tail, and starts to return to his nightmarish home. He speads his weight low and even across his paws, lengthening the stride his lope is taking on, gliding eerily and swiftly across the landscape.
The wind snaps its cruel jaws and howls at this foreign wolf, as he speeds towards the miniscule buildings in the distance, pausing on the back of a rocky crag , to fill his deflated lungs with much needed air.
Howling. As he shuns the dawn and its cruelness to the swift, midnight hunters of the lord Hircine. He takes to the land once more, tail gliding behind his as he bounds and leaps over the small ledges and crevices in the uneven moorlands surrounding him, much as he would if he were leaping a brook or small ford.
His pelt was on fire, he sped across the land, glowing against the sun's waking light, as he jumps from island to island or raised land, keeping his hurried pace, as he approaches the rapidly growing fortress in front of his vision.
As he runs, a loping, even pace, soon turns into a frenzied dash, his footpads pounding the softened earth as the spirits of his ancestors and the mystic creatures Hircine set free for the hunt. The land evens, into rolling hills, with the occasional unexpected crevice. Creatures and wolves alike keep pace, as they approach the last crevice, with a drop of more than a seaside cliff. The creatures start to slow, making an aisle for the wolf and his ancestors.
As the wolves, spirit and flesh alike, speed up, the flame bathed wolf lead the pack gathering his muscled back legs and soaring over the crevice, time slowing for a small eternity, as he jumped the rising sun, turning into a giant puppeteers silhouette, as he lept gracefully across, landing on his front paws, and taking one great bound down the decline, waiting before friendly spirits greeted him on the other side.
The 9 wolves, following the mortal wolf, padded silently up the incline, and formed a formation, mortal in the middle of the small pack at the crest of the hill, and all the prey stood baffled by the sight before them. The wolves bowed down simultanyously, starting from the ends and working to the wolfblood in front centre. The wolves reared upwards, howling to herald their lord, before swinging with the speed of the hunt, and gliding swiftly over the hills and dips, until all the ancestors had returned to the hunting grounds.
As the flame crested wolf reach the last hill, he jumped, disapearing behind the hill.
Little would the mortals know, if they had looked beyond that incline, they would have found a teenager, wearing a long white coat and small, round spectacles...
His eyes opened...