Post by Seagull on Dec 18, 2013 12:13:25 GMT
The sun shone down on the plains, warming the ground below and casting a warm light upon the meadows. Here, there was an idyllic silence - a peaceful oasis of calm and serenity. Apart from the occasional elk or moose, there seemed to be no-one there at all - just the plants, swaying and swooning in time with the breeze. The whole region seemed timeless: if a casual observer had been there, that day, they would have had the feeling that they could stay for as long as they wanted, and yet the landscape would never change, would never progress, would never shift, change or move anywhere beyond this single point. In this way, it was not quite the fanciful thought to imagine one growing older, and yet the landscape remaining unwelding to the touch and to respond forever in the same, nervous dance of a wild equid before a new master: that it would remain the same, and would never change, not even in an endless oblivion - the wild would always be rugged, and would always react in the same way.
And Archer was tired of it.
"Bored, bored, bored, bored."
The male pawed the blood stained bones next to him from his hunt only moments before: red still macabrely painting his muzzle and maw. Although his landscape might be restful for some, it was evidently the opposite for him - he looked around with apparent boredom, as though the region, as beautiful as it was, was as stimulating as the very ground beneath his paws: that is, not very stimulating whatsoever. The small hare he had caught, whose bones were now lying next to him in some sort of a meagre pile, was the only thing he had managed to find here, for not only did his very presence scare of many a prey animal, but there simply just was not many around of which to hunt: they were supposedly all underground, under bushes or whatever the hell they went and spent their summer afternoons. For a male like him, a hare would not fill his stomach, and this fact was one that he was acutely aware of: every few moments, his stomach would rumble, and once more Archer would feel the gnawing sensations of hunger. One would imagine that it would be easier to move to another place and find food there, perhaps, but the Delta Male was not stupid: he knew that the beach was deserted of life, that there would not be much prey in the camp with the strong scent of wolves and that fish was not to his liking. No: he would have to stay here if he wanted food, even if that meant launching a stakeout (he had a strong urge to call it a "steakout", which would be especially fitting for his own mission) to do it.
"Bored, bored, bored, bored."
But hunting itself would not fix the boredom he had, day after day - it would be able to amuse him for a few moments, true, but after that.....well, he'd just be back to the crushing tedium that was sitting here, not nothing to do. If he had more energy, he would have sought out others of his kind, the fellows that occupied the pack of which he lived in, but then......well, they'd just feed off each other's boredom, or so he said, and, apparently, maybe, believed.
Once more, the Delta Male pawed the bones, half-heartedly gnawing them, wriggling out whatever marrow they had left. Needless to say, there wasn't much: just the scraps. He needed something to do: he couldn't just sit here, for, as lovely as the thought of staking out food would be, it would be, frankly, sitting here for what seemed like months and months on end, which didn't appeal whatsoever. He needed something to do, somewhere to go, someone to talk to.....
Having enough of it all, Archer got up and began to pace, almost tripping over the bones as he went. Kicking them out of the way with a fair old grunt of both mild anger and pain, he continued to pace, teaching every piece of rock and dirt under his paws the crushing tedium it was of having nothing to do, and nothing to do with no-one.
At this point of time, the male didn't even care if his thoughts were structured properly. He just needed something to do, and he needed something to do now, before he turned insane. Which, to be fair to him, was something that was probably already coming his way anyway.
And Archer was tired of it.
"Bored, bored, bored, bored."
The male pawed the blood stained bones next to him from his hunt only moments before: red still macabrely painting his muzzle and maw. Although his landscape might be restful for some, it was evidently the opposite for him - he looked around with apparent boredom, as though the region, as beautiful as it was, was as stimulating as the very ground beneath his paws: that is, not very stimulating whatsoever. The small hare he had caught, whose bones were now lying next to him in some sort of a meagre pile, was the only thing he had managed to find here, for not only did his very presence scare of many a prey animal, but there simply just was not many around of which to hunt: they were supposedly all underground, under bushes or whatever the hell they went and spent their summer afternoons. For a male like him, a hare would not fill his stomach, and this fact was one that he was acutely aware of: every few moments, his stomach would rumble, and once more Archer would feel the gnawing sensations of hunger. One would imagine that it would be easier to move to another place and find food there, perhaps, but the Delta Male was not stupid: he knew that the beach was deserted of life, that there would not be much prey in the camp with the strong scent of wolves and that fish was not to his liking. No: he would have to stay here if he wanted food, even if that meant launching a stakeout (he had a strong urge to call it a "steakout", which would be especially fitting for his own mission) to do it.
"Bored, bored, bored, bored."
But hunting itself would not fix the boredom he had, day after day - it would be able to amuse him for a few moments, true, but after that.....well, he'd just be back to the crushing tedium that was sitting here, not nothing to do. If he had more energy, he would have sought out others of his kind, the fellows that occupied the pack of which he lived in, but then......well, they'd just feed off each other's boredom, or so he said, and, apparently, maybe, believed.
Once more, the Delta Male pawed the bones, half-heartedly gnawing them, wriggling out whatever marrow they had left. Needless to say, there wasn't much: just the scraps. He needed something to do: he couldn't just sit here, for, as lovely as the thought of staking out food would be, it would be, frankly, sitting here for what seemed like months and months on end, which didn't appeal whatsoever. He needed something to do, somewhere to go, someone to talk to.....
Having enough of it all, Archer got up and began to pace, almost tripping over the bones as he went. Kicking them out of the way with a fair old grunt of both mild anger and pain, he continued to pace, teaching every piece of rock and dirt under his paws the crushing tedium it was of having nothing to do, and nothing to do with no-one.
At this point of time, the male didn't even care if his thoughts were structured properly. He just needed something to do, and he needed something to do now, before he turned insane. Which, to be fair to him, was something that was probably already coming his way anyway.
