rUNNING uP tHAT hill . ( Danceul )

[.Rabid Lycan.]

It doesn't hurt me.
You wanna feel how it feels?
You wanna know, know that it doesn't hurt me?
You wanna hear about the deal I'm making?
You be running up that hill
You and me be running up that hill

How long had it been?
A brisk wind stirred the tranquil pasture, the stretch of browning grasses bending toward some distant mountain crest. Each tendril, like teetering dominos, bowed to their neighbor in a resonating wave, the tide flexing ceaselessly into the blurry horizon. Starlight smiled downward, flaring silver at their backs, and casting shadows where shadows should hide. A grouping of clouds slithered along overhead, but the moon remained clear to light the path of a thoughtful marauder in the grasses beneath. Along a makeshift trail, she picked her way, the shafts of her legs swallowed in the swirling motion of weeds with every step. There was no cover here—only freedom to bask in that bleached candlestick glow. As a more forceful gust picked up, she brought herself to a pause, and resigned herself to the spot.
Autumn had crept upon them. Soon the chill would seep through the barrier of her still-summer coat, and bite frostily at aging wounds. The cold loneliness would cycle, as it always did, and ensnare them in its grasp.
…no. That’s not right.
She lifted her mismatched eyes to the heaven, tracing shapes in the stars as she often did. Or used to, before a new presence crawled its way into her life. And now it was immovable—he was immovable. Damien.
It was odd to think that she had once very nearly feared the arrival of winter. Alone, weak, small—the cold always seemed to find her. Cold things seemed to attract cold things. But even the first winters spent with the male were different. There remained the desperate fear of personal space—they would not bury their noses against one another and cling together for warmth. No, not like they’d so mindlessly do nowadays. But it was more comfortable. Safer.
Sanceul twitched an ear, brushing off a sneaking sensation of paranoia. The idea of yet another attack, or even the simple sight of another wolf, heightened her senses, but anger at the emotion churned in her stomach. You took care of yourself before—so why the change? Why can’t I get into fights? Not that it’s an entirely noble ordeal, I’ll give ya that, but, now… A soft sigh emptied her muzzle, followed by the tensing of the veins in her forehead.. Never mind. Just keep a sharp eye… for whoever comes this way.
Her eyes drifted downward, an ironic impulse creeping over her. She almost wished, very dearly, that Apocalypse would suddenly reemerge from the shadows. Even Morgan, she prayed. Even him. Just so she could release a fistful of claws against their mocking smirks… to prove that she wasn’t so vulnerable. ’cause I’m not she assured herself inwardly, not without doubts. And if I have to, I’ll track them down to prove it…
A sneeze.
Wonder where that other blue-eyed bastard ran off to… would’ve liked to see an extension of their truth and dare.

It doesn't hurt me,
But see how deep the bullet lies.
Unaware that I'm tearing you asunder.
There is thunder in our hearts, baby.
So much hate for the ones we love?
Tell me, we both matter, don't we?

[Sivoncé™]

As if molded from the shadows themselves, the dark figure moved fluidly from the shade to the light. He paused and observed the moon glowing above him, laden with the cold, steely shine of winter. The sky glistened with diamond stars, and dancing swaths of color unfurled across the heavens in a glistening show of lights -- the auroura borealis. He had seen scores of nights before this, and perhaps any other wolf would've gone on with what he was doing without even a glance, but he was not another wolf. He was himself; he was Damien.
And Damien had always had a place in his heart for life's miracles.
He found himself sitting on a smooth, cool stone that felt uncomfortably icy on his underbelly. He winced at the initial sensation of cold as it trickled throughout his body, but his stare remained fixed on the beauty of the lights as they changed and intertwined. He couldn't let himself become on of those others, one of the passersby; the period of hell, the precursor to his true life, had taught him to take in beauty while you had the chance.
The dark creature's ears twitched as the captured a slight rustle in the grasses. His copper eyes abandoned the light show above and scanned the undergrowth behind him. Slowly, he stood, the great muscles in his shoulders rippling as he did so. A gust of wind pushed past his nose and tugged at his shaggy fur, tangling it slightly. He took no notice of it as he closed his eyes an inhaled, a small, soft smile playing on his lips.
Sanceul!
He leaped from the stone and bounded forth in pursuit of the familiar perfume as it laced itself in the atmosphere. It didn't take him long to find her...his angel.
It was difficult, now that they were truly spending their lives together, to understand his past fears or insecurities. It seemed silly, even, that they had bickered long ago or that there had ever been a time where he would not run to her and lightly caress her back with the soft tip of his tail as he sat down beside her, like he did now.
"Hello," he murmured gently, a playful, giddy grin on his lips.

[.Rabid Lycan.]

Summer’s warmth crept suddenly up her spine, the seasons mixing before her eyes. A brief glance, and she could not refuse the smile the temporarily, and eagerly, forbade the cold. Lips twitched, flashing a small fragment of a grin back at the towering giant. But not too towering.
“Greetings, my good sir,” she murmured, a sort of playful glimmer mirroring the giddiness of his face. “Enjoying the show?”
Her nod aimed at the flexing of lights high above their heads, higher above than even Golden Wolf, if ever there were such a creature. She gazed above with a certain admiration, though did well in hiding the bulk of her enthusiasm. …hurm… it really is quite… beautiful. Her form quivered ever so subtly, and she tucked her head against her chest. If only more the world could be as such.
After moments of absorbing the scene, she twitched her tail, the cerulean and black depths of her eyes still fixated skyward. “…Damien, do you think we should ever leave this valley? Y’know, find someplace new, safe. Where we don’t need to hide, or be so… careful?” She paused a little, ear twitching. Not that it really matters, I suppose, in the long run… It seemed a foolish inquiry, really—maybe they could escape the Hellfirians, which weren’t all that interested in Damien anyhow, but Morgan? He’d track them to the ends of the earth, and she knew it. That, and considering the state of things, they’d always have to watch their backs. It was the lesson of the earth.
A different question, however, burned in her chest. It had troubled her for some while now, but for now, it’s presence would remain mute. At least outside her head.

[Sivoncé™]

Serentiy blossomed in his veins. He softly nuzzled her head as they snuggled in the moonshine, watching the glories of the skies as they glistened on the dark stage overhead. He was transfixed, only moments before my it's startling, empirical beauty, but now he found himself more stunned than ever before as he looked lovingly down at Sanceul basked in moonlight. She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. He swore to himself it must be true. He sighed the contented lover's sigh, soaking in the goodness of the moment.
However, trouble seeped into his thoughts at her questioning. Outwardly, his expression was only deterred by a small fraction. Inside, his mind was whirring all over the place. How come I never thought about this before? I've been ridiculous, stupid even, staying here when Sanceul could be in so much more trouble here than far away. But the only other place outside of the vally that he knew was inhabitable was the mountains, and even that was questionable. Untamed and ancient tribal packs littered the expanse of the Mountains of Endless Winter. Many of them were chauvinistic traditionalists, others were the exact opposite. There were many wolves who lived simply as assasins, and still others who lived in small religious cults who worshipped wolves other than the packs of the valley did. The mountains were intriguing, mysterious, but Damien wasn't so sure about them.
"Well...how do you feel about snow?" He said eventually, recalling some of the remarks he'd made against Apocalypse in their recent encounter. Something like shoving snow up their asses.... "I'm more of a Southern boy myself," he smiled slightly at the joke. But his smile faded as something notched into place in his mind.
I haven't left because I'm waiting....waiting to find out what will happen to them, the others. Waiting to find out what will happen...to me...when this all comes to an end...

[.Rabid Lycan.]

Snow?
“Looks like we’re staying put,” she chuckled, shaking her head. “Me an’ winter weather have a lousy history together.” Even now, with Damien so close, cold was seeping through her growing coat. But a slight upward turn of her jowls remained. “Just got to wonder if we’ll see a day without hiding…”
It was boiling, now. That scorching little question at the back of her throat, the back of her mind. It rose to her tongue, and she felt it speak aloud with a voice of its own. Not that it was a terrible question, just… a weighted one. For her, anyhow.
“I don't know if there's an answer for this, but... what exactly is the criteria for going to Hell?”
You know, just making everyday conversation.

[Sivoncé™]

Even Damien, who was stricken inside, had to chuckle at her response. "We think alike in that respect," he woofed, though he was still miffed by himself. His subconscious had blocked it from him for so long, because he'd been chasing after Sanceul, and just being with her took his mind away from such cruel realities. But creul reality clearly did not like to be ignored.
Am I like them? Am I really like them?The truth was, he'd yet to die since he'd been incarnated, so he wasn't exactly sure if he would come back, or where he would go when he eventually did pass from life. Perhaps a wolf couldn't change their fate; perhaps once they were hellbound, there was no reversing the ruling, and they were, thus, forever bound to hell. But at the same time, then why the spontaneous reincarnation at all? Nobody had the answer -- Damien certainly didn't -- but he wondered as many did. Could it be possible that they were given a second chance? A chance to redeem themselves?
Do I really come back like the others? They've lived before I....I haven't...S
anceul's inquiry startled him out of his troubling cycle of thoughts. Clearly, he'd become lost in them -- but now it was ocurring to him, by the abrupt, unexpected question, that Sanceul was lost in troubling thoughts as well. He tilted his head at her, eyes curious.
"Well....isn't it subjective? You can....kill a wolf and be horribly guilty and repentent, or kill a wolf on accident, but these are very different things than killing a wolf in cold blood for the sake of it. Every wolf in the Twilight Realm has probably attacked and killed someone....but I think there must be a certain purpose behind it that is justifiable but....Sanceul, why are you asking this?"

[.Rabid Lycan.]

She had long lost the need to maintain a continuous stare at him, to dissect his expressions and tell whether Damien was angry or content. The silence between them seemed to radiate the story, good or bad, by some telepathic meaning. But, even then, she had to steal a quick glance at her companion to see the shifting gears in his mind—she was far too distracted with other musings to guess at his thoughts. At his suddenly curious eyes, she shifted her focus away once more.
“But… it can’t be subjective. Not really. Subjective to us, or subjective to the person that puts us there—whoever puts us there—is not the same thing… is it? It can’t. Just… there are too many shades and colors of sinners. A serial killer could murder dozens, but what if they’re justified in their own mind? I mean, take any handful of Lucifer’s siblings—hell, take Lucifer himself! He does horrible, horrible things, though he doesn’t show it, but he believes that it’s for the common good. But to cast an insane wolf into Twilight Realm… no, just… where do you draw the line between justified or not?”
Pulling away, to a stand, as if moving about would fuel her courage in speaking her thoughts. Eyes flickered aimlessly under their lids, unable to settle on any constant image. Suddenly, the lights had lost their appeal.
“Why”?
“…it’s just…”
…what if I’m going to Hell? How much blood stains my name—true, some you can write off, but what about my mother? No one could vouch for me there—not for that. How can you write off killing someone? Hell, wouldn’t it just be safer to be destined for Hellfire? We wouldn’t have to worry, or have to run. Morgan could kill me all he wants, and it wouldn’t even matter. We’d be safer… wouldn’t we?
“…a stupid question from a stupid sinner.”

[Sivoncé™]

He nodded as she spoke, understanding her contemplations. He didn't have the answers to her questions, either. After all, he himself had been sent to hell, hadn't he? He'd always assumed it was an accident, but what if he'd been destined to be a tyrannical bastard if he'd been born on earth like he should've been? Perhaps hell had saved him, had awakened the potential for good, and let him have his chance when he was ready...
"I don't know, Sanceul," he woofed gently, honestly. "I grew up there, but I never truly understood it. I personally can't help but think there's someone watching out for us, a puppet-master behind the skies somewhere, but most wolves gave up the idea of GoldenWolf a very long time ago. I believe in it, in a way but....for me, at least, I've come to accept that I don't know everything about the way the universe works and probably never will. It's horribly disatisfying but..." Her last comment cut him short. A deep frown pulled down on his mouth, dismay shooting through his eyes. "Sanceul, don't say that, love. You're an angel." Each word rang with sincerity and thought. He tried to meet her eyes with his as he spoke, but she seemed to be in a far away place.
One thing was for certain: Sanceul should not know the reasonings he had discovered. She wouldn't know how mortal he could be; she didn't need to have the burden of worrying for his life.

[.Rabid Lycan.]

Such a mirage of philosophical wonderings. Who, or what, or how—all impossible gears and spinning contraptions of some design no one could quite decipher. Perhaps there was no design—but how could it be? These flames were all too real. She could but glance at Damien for proof of that. But who decided—conscience, or something greater? Moreover, would it be better for conscience or another power to judge you?
And then Damien’s defense hit her.
Her ears flew up, hearing that little grouping of words jingle in her ears. Her head dipped lower, slightly away from Damien, and not just to avoid his gaze. Not just. But a smile widened on her maw, but not so pleasant as the one before. And she began to snicker, and then laugh, and then roar with hilarity. Whatever hyena had consumed her self control, it was quick to dissipate, but not without leaving a slight dampness to her eyes.
“‘Angelic?’ Oh, boy. Damien, I may not be the worst, but any moral allegiances I’ve made fall quite a bit short of what you think for me. I’m not a good wolf, Damien. I’ve had days of coldness, days of bloodshed—I’m responsible for the death of four wolves, as far as I know. ‘Angelic’, Damien? I’d be dirtying the names of every holy soul should I claim that title. Sorry, big guy, but your softness for me is blinding you.”

[Sivoncé™]

Damien was hurt -- and deeply so -- but he tried to conceal it from his faltering expression. Something had stirred in Sanceul -- they'd been happy just moments before, but now she seemed to be in a distant place thinking of things that didn't make much sense to him. He sighed softly, attempting to collect his thoughts in order to take a different approach.
"I've killed before -- and I would've killed more if I had to...but...am I doomed to hell? Blood stains my name just as much as yours." He spoke softly, a gentle whisper in her ear. If either of us has a chance at going to hell again, it's me.
"I don't feel like a blind man," he chuckled dryly. "To the contrary, this life -- this short life -- has felt like truly seeing because in hell, there are so few possibilities; there is no potential for anything that what already is. But sometimes....wolves make hell for themselves, even while they're alive. I think you're giving yourself a hell you don't deserve, Sanceul; you think it is inevitable that you go to hell, but you're not thinking of the good you've done or that possibility that you might not go to hell."

[.Rabid Lycan.]

That raw grin still stung on her lips, his words trailing in and out of her ears. Eyes still angled somewhere distant. For a brief moment, her voice softened.
“You’re a stubbornly optimistic person, do you know that?”
Another shiver. Suddenly, she could taste frost in the air, and she shifted her gaze toward the mountains. The ivory hues were creeping downward, threatening their inevitable arrival. Though her mind was too cluttered for accuracy, she swore she scented snow on the air.
But it was too soon, wasn’t it?
I was so sure I’d go to Hell back then, so very sure. So positive. And now Hellfirian is synonymous with immortal—wouldn’t that be for the best, then? To be immortal? We’d never have to flee like cowards, not ever again, for fear of safety. But when did I forget this fate… why… even now, wouldn’t it be best if we accepted this fact again? Wouldn’t it?
But she couldn’t speak it. No, not these thoughts—not to him.
“Out of the five wolves I’ve known more than acquaintances or annoyances, I’ve killed four… that’s a little ironic, really,” she murmured softly, a slight laugh in her voice. “What do you think will happen to us? Will it be some ‘Twilight Realm’ for us to romp through—or will it be different? Maybe we’ll land somewhere else… someplace calm. Warm. Just the two of us.” She glided across the grass, with several lengths of earth to separate them. “Some quiet place with no memory…”
A casual amble led her further from the ebony male, tail skimming the weeds spiraling from cracks between the soil. Her paws led her down, over the hill, eyes at last fixating on some stream far off and swallowed by pines.
“I need… a drink.”

[Sivoncé™]

Damien's optimism suddenly wilted. His eyes narrowed by the tiniest, invisible degree. A spark of anger was burning in his stomach, but he did well at concealing it. This was and age-old arguement between Sanceul and himself that he doubted would ever be resolved. He'd forgotten that, in this respect, they were polar opposites. He'd been in hell long enought to have a death-grip on hope; in his place, hope had been the only thing he'd had. To let go of it would've been insanity and would've made him into a monster. But many wolves, those who hadn't been through the same experience, saw things very differently. He still felt that it was a ludicrous attitude, but at the same time, he didn't know what it was like to grow up here. Inside, his mind was screaming for him to let it go, but Sanceul seemed determined not to. So, instead, he sighed softly and held his tongue.
"Let's go get a drink, then," he murmured gently. He rose to his paws and began to pad towards the nearby stream.
His silence was a brooding one.

[.Rabid Lycan.]

Her weight shifted, first one flank, then the other. Her fox-like visage blinked coldly against a sudden stirring of the breeze, her entire body suddenly bitter with the conversation. Or, rather, it was not really the conversation—it was the fault of her thoughts. Those nagging little wonderings, like insects, circling around her ears and buzzing their little insecurities into the folds of her skin. And they would linger, often dormant, like a sleeping cancer, until some evening like this.
Whatever. Get over yourself.
At an arctic burn at her paws, she retreated a step with lightening reflexes. Distracted, she had reached the stream, but not as she had imagined it. Already, and icy coating was sealing the water beneath. She paused, with a soft sigh, and began to follow the curve of the stream toward larger, less frozen portion of the waterway. She swished her tail, momentarily twitching her ears to see if Damien was following or not—not that she exactly needed, to really. It was a shocking ordeal nowadays if Damien was not somewhere near her side, though at the moment, she began to consider, he probably wasn’t very content with their situation. Fire and ice, that’s what they always were—in a more literal sense than most. But opposites attract, as they say.
She lightly tongued the tip of her incisors. Someone needs to write a soap opera outta this shit.
Sanceul came to a pause where the stream broadened out into a river, and slowly lowered her head toward the tide. Her tongue met the chill, her throat aching with every swallow, but she didn’t stop. She never really trusted the water, what with her track record. But maybe it was a more hereditary affair than she acknowledged.
“So cold, so fast,” she whispered softly, the wind carrying her murmurs to no one in particular. Though one pair of ears certainly caught the drift, from somewhere off in the woods, and they turned silently toward the sound. A nice, familiar sound.