Post by Harcos on Aug 13, 2006 12:28:09 GMT -5
Harcos' eyes were seemingly focused intensely on the glittering surface before him that was Pewter Creek. But he was not fully taking in the brilliance of the liquid as the sun beat down upon it, pouring out its light. The small ripples originating from underwater creatures, the silver streaks of fish. It blurred out, becoming a grey landscape once reaching his eyes. The wolf was lost in thought, thinking back. It wasn't often that this state overwhelmed him, that he allowed his thoughts to run rampant. Normally they were contained within a part of his mind that had slowly become numb, do to his clamping it, forcing it to stay separate from the rest of his being.
Harcos blinked, lids sweeping away the alteration. He quickly turned his head away, optics reverting back to grey as his mind realized the reflection. Limbs straightening, the brujo decided that that was enough thinking; he needed a place to rest. He had been avoiding the thought of sleep since his senses picked up on the fact of others being present, even though his body had been begging of it for days. His pessimism led him to picture other wolves attacking him as he dreamed, defenseless.
But he couldn't deny it anymore. He wasn't willing to allow his body to collapse from exhaustion. Perhaps he should allow his body an hour or two of slumbering peace. He had been ignoring the fact that it shouldn't matter if he was to die; that it had, after all, been his hope for the longest of times. So why did he worry so much? Harcos peddled back wards a few steps, away from the stream. He shouldn't argue with how he was; it wouldn't do any good.
Harcos blinked, lids sweeping away the alteration. He quickly turned his head away, optics reverting back to grey as his mind realized the reflection. Limbs straightening, the brujo decided that that was enough thinking; he needed a place to rest. He had been avoiding the thought of sleep since his senses picked up on the fact of others being present, even though his body had been begging of it for days. His pessimism led him to picture other wolves attacking him as he dreamed, defenseless.
But he couldn't deny it anymore. He wasn't willing to allow his body to collapse from exhaustion. Perhaps he should allow his body an hour or two of slumbering peace. He had been ignoring the fact that it shouldn't matter if he was to die; that it had, after all, been his hope for the longest of times. So why did he worry so much? Harcos peddled back wards a few steps, away from the stream. He shouldn't argue with how he was; it wouldn't do any good.