Running Dreams sat in his small den, holding a bottle of whiskey in one hand. It was a very special day for him, and yet there was no joy in his eyes today. As of now, it was his twenty-seventh birthday, on Midsumer's Eve. Good things and bad things had happend on this day, and the latest was a tragedy. James Covingston, the pack's Alpha, had left. He had disapeared in the middle of the night, and left no trace or sign of where he could be found. Now, tbe pack was starting to slowly fall apart, as the ragged colection of drifters and bannished that had made up the pack left for stabler shores. As he cracked the seal onthe old bottle, he thought he heard footsteps outside the den. Dismising it as a hare, Running Dreams sat down, propes his mocasians on his footrest-log, and proceded to carefully start drinking.
Sat Jun 29, 2013 11:46 pm by Dawnstar
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