Sorrow-sings-alone
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| Information | Snapshots | |
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| Story Hooks | Quotes | |
Sorrow-Sings-Alone follows the much larger Whitethunder towards where Justine is, watching him greet the woman and hearing her name. The meat is offered and she takes it, laying it neatly across her huge paws to keep it from getting dirty as she sits back on her haunches. << I am from Western Storm, up north. >> comes the reply, the hungry looking pup waiting to answer the other Shadowlord's questions before turning towards the offered meal. <<It is a sad story...>> The little Galliard says, warming to her duty as a spinner of tales. <<In the big, big woods where the great elk still flourish, there was a large pack of wolves.>> she starts, watching where she is going more than where Whitethunder is - trusting he won't trample her. <<And in this pack, there was a black cub. A tiny cub. A runt that was almost taken out to the snow by the mother. Too small to make it, so they thought. Too weak to survive.>> She falls into an easy cadence, her voice wonderful, soothing on the ears, even in this form. <<As the seasons passed, the cub only grew a little, no matter how much they fed it, how much it suckled. And in the coming of the second autumn, the little wolf smelled wrong to the rest of the pack, and was left behind when they moved. The alpha nipped, and bit and told it to stay behind. There was a big fight and the cub changed. The anger took hold of it and warped the flesh. Made it into something that scared the pack. They ran far and fast, faster than the pup could keep up. And so the pup sat and cried, and cried until the Kinfetch could bring more Garou to where the cub was mourning the pack.>> She looks up at Whitethunder, then back to the trail. <<They took the cub in, there at the Westerm Storm, showed it how to be as it was made. And still the cub cried and cried for it's lost family. Sitting all alone under the tallest tree at the highest point near the Caern. And that is why it was given the name Sorrow-Sings-Alone.>> Yes, she's really /that/ eloquent in the lupine tongue, every twitch of her body conveying some subtle nuance. A tilt of head, a flick of ear, the angle and cant of her tail, even the way her nose twitches as she sniffs the air seems to bring new richness to the language. |
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