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15629

Scarce

Name Player
Rota Penumbra Citrus
 

The meadow was exactly as she remembered it, all colorful and bursting with life.

Rota hated it.

She hated that she was back here after she all but swore off the Circle. She hated that it still reminded her of them. Of him.

Dad had gone off to die, she was sure. She was never going to see him again, but the memory of those long nights they spent huddled together here were still as fresh in her mind as ever. They bonded here, by the lake when he finally told her about Kara and Makoa. They bonded over Altair and their shared desire to see him finally open up. They bonded here even after they’d been separated for months. It was here that she made up her mind to always be by her father’s side. To always support him even when no one else did.

And it was here that he left them.

Rota had accepted it the second she stepped out of the meadow for what she thought was the last time. She thought having some semblance of a purpose would help her forget, but everyone saw how that turned out.

Now she was right back where she started, in the place of her birth; the place where her life fell apart, the place she tried time and again to return to, the place she despised with a passion. The place where her father died—the only family she had left.

Rota was alone, and she hated it.


Jan 22, 2019 06:40 PM

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244700
Name Player
Tempest Isla White Art Staff
 

She… she knew this smell. She did! It tickled her brain, and she sniffed sporadically as she followed it, wracking her memory for why she knew it. It was like Altair, but not. Like Captain Kara, but not. Like…

“ROTA!” she barked suddenly to the echoing sky, head shooting up from the ground trail and tail wagging spastically. Tempest hadn’t spotted her yet, but the punch of recognition delighted her to the core and she had been unable to hold it inside. Despite the desperate temptation to race off and see her before she left, Tempest restrained herself to a brisk trot, not wanting to get overexerted before she even caught up with her. Please be Rota please be her puppyhood friend please don’t let her remember wrong!!


Jan 23, 2019 09:51 PM — Post #1

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244721

Scarce

Name Player
Rota Penumbra Citrus
 

The wind whistled through the meadow, bringing with it the scent of fresh grass, summer flowers, and the ghostly wisps of those who were long gone.

Rota’s snout wrinkled at the memories those scents elicited. Because they were just that: memories. Nobody had so much as stepped foot in the surrounding plains while she, Dad, and Altair still lived there and she had no reason to suspect otherwise. It was just another trick this godforsaken meadow used to trap her here.

And it worked. Time and time again, it worked. Whenever she was at her lowest, she somehow managed to drag herself back here, hoping for… something. Not an escape. An excuse to feel sorry for herself, maybe. Even that didn’t work half the time. Most of the things she had to feel bad about were her fault in some way or another.

Maybe the meadow was her own special Hell. A place to brood over everything that went wrong in her life the second she stepped past the long-abandoned borders. A place whose sole purpose was to endlessly torment her with the memories of her pack and family falling apart, one by one. Memories so vivid that she could’ve sworn she heard them calling her name.


Jan 24, 2019 12:39 AM — Post #2

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246505
Name Player
Tempest Isla White Art Staff
 

She! Couldn’t! Run!

Trotting as speedily as she could trot without ending up over-worked, Tempest whined keenly in her throat as Rota paid her no heed, a sound likely lost in the wind. Tongue lolled out already to pant beneath the summer heat despite her reduced speed, Tempest paused to swallow and wet her throat as best she could before she called out again.

“Rota! RoooOOOta!” she half-howled.


Feb 07, 2019 08:02 PM — Post #3

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246799

Scarce

Name Player
Rota Penumbra Citrus
 

...There it was again, louder this time. Frozen in place for a moment while her brain processed the implications of someone calling her name in a meadow that—as far as she was concerned—had long since been abandoned, Rota finally lifted her head and pricked her ears forward. There was no denying it, this time. Someone was definitely calling her.

Unless they weren’t and she was actually literally going insane. The thought settled in her gut like a two-ton hunk of rotten meat; and the one other possibility wasn’t super appealing, either.

Her brain whirled, racing to put a name or a face to the distant voice and at the same time severing whatever vague connections she managed to make in fear of whoever that spark of recognition would land on. Altair? Dad? Sif?

Kara?

Dad did say she was having a litter with Makoa. If she had brought them here in an attempt to reclaim the meadow…

Rota immediately fell into a defensive stance, head low, her ears pinned flat against her skull and her face a mask of rage.

She’d leave no survivors.


Feb 10, 2019 07:27 PM — Post #4

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