05-16-2019, 11:36 AM
Argus is a wolf, and while wolves have never been natural to the jungle, the jungle has always been natural to them. Their very beginning started in the desert. Their first life was spent there, their first battles. Argus was born of blood and sand, learned how to battle, kill, torture. But that clan was long gone, Argus' home is gone. They didn't need their clan, they needed something familiar, something to return to.
It was instinctual, to return home - lick their wounds. No place had ever truly felt like home as much as they attempted to remake the feeling. They would return to their home. Where the struggles were common enough - seconded nature. It was the first battle they lost in a while, and the scars are still fresh under their pelt. One wing tucked to their side, the other dragged behind her, bone broken but healing. Stiff with jolts of pain shooting down their spine - they probably would have to re break it. Healed wrong, twisted - like them.
Argus has never denied their instincts before, but just this once she felt hesitance in executing it. Returning to a place that unmade them was just asking for it again. For bad habits to relapse and for Argus to revert. They have gone through so much, struggled for so long, this life - long and dragged out but they were tired, there was nothing waiting for them on the other side. So they returned home, a home their mind no longer quite remembers but their instincts settle at the familiar sting of the sand on their hardened padded feet. Warmth, for the first time in a long time, Argus felt warm.
White stood out among the shade of the jungle. Fur matted in a black, tar like substance that dribbled from between their teeth. One large wing stretched backwards, crooked and dragged through the undergrowth, the other tightly wound at the side. Red eyes peer out into the dunes if a home away from home. Gaze distant, nostalgic.