Prayer: ..star-warrior..

..star-warrior..

Posted by Mordecai on 10/11/2009, 9:53 pm
216.220.216.183

In his younger years Mordecai had found a lot to be thankful for. He was born strong, to a good father, of a proud bloodline, and had a very doting mother. He was an adventerous and willfull puppy and had made friends easily. He had had honor and decency once. He had even almost loved once. He had been guardian, a defender. But now, years later, all of it was just once upon atime.

Not to say he was old. He was certainly past his youth, but far from his golden years. He was mature. He would never be any stronger than he was, and he would never grow any taller. Which was fortunate for if he did he would certainly surpass his giant father, Sirius.

However, despite his lack of years, he was almost dead. His spirit was cold and his heart withered. He was a phantom, existing just so long as his heart pumped blood through his veins.

But he was tired. And the agony of the past kept him in torture.

He was bitter. Towards his mother, but his father especially.

Sirius hadn't been there, except for a few brief moments while he was young. His collie sire's visits were erratic and brief. With nothing more than a kind smile and a 'well done, son.' Sirius had left the protecting of their family up to him. And Mordecai had done it all these years, rarely taking time for himself. And Wingfoot.. His mother had always spoke about their father. How wonderful he was. How much Mordecai was like him. When he was young and prideful Mordecai was proud of that. Now that he was older he was ashamed.

In Mordecai's eyes Sirius had abandoned them. And his mother was a fool to remain so fanatically devoted.

Mordecai had taught himself how to hunt, to help provide for his mother and siblings. He had learned how to fight. He had gone through all the trials and triumphs of youth very much alone, while his friend's had father's to smile on them Mordecai had a tired mother's woeful grin before she passed out from exhaustion.

A long time ago he had stopped hanging around his family as much. Kennocha had had a mate but was ead now. her brute Caleb walked the mountain now with their son, his nephew, Windigo. The others had gone off long ago. And Wingfoot had died, but was stubbornly hanging around as a spirit. And rumors had reached him that she was trying to get him a girlfriend. Huh. Like that would happen.

Femmes didn't like brutes like he had turned out to be. He had been more dashing in his youth. Now in his so called prime he was scruffy. His long ebon coat was shaggy and without sheen. Only his pesky bangs added a gentle character to his disheartened features, and his clouded, lost, brown eyes. He was too rugged. And while he was kind once you got him warmed up, he was unstable. And he had long ago resigned himself to a hermit's life.

Mordecai had never had much faith in prayer or religion. Often times he thought the gods mocked him for not giving thanks in a time when he was blessed. But he was past the point of caring.

But the energy of this place touched him. Warmed his withered heart ever so slightly, and melted the frost on his cold soul. And he could feel for a moment the deeply repressed and savagely guarded emotions hidden deep within him. So much so that with little warning he threw his muzzle to the skies and unleashed a mournful wailing screaming howl of despair. The agonizing cry of a lost soul secretly and silently needing guidance.

And with just as little warning he stopped abruptly as his steely resolve came crashing back down. And he stood, panting softly, with his head between his forelimbs and his eyes tight shut.