Post by Szandor Colden on Sept 24, 2007 0:41:32 GMT -5
Shades of pink and orange stretched across the sky as the sun went down in the suburbs of Athens Greece. And in the eastward horizon, stars scattered the darkening blue blanket of sky; the quarter moon shone brightly as it ascended.
Street lights turned on, but the streets themselves became empty as everyone returned to their homes. For centuries, the cities of Greece had been haunted and ruled by savage Werewolf attacks. And even though the full moon was not out, citizens were still weary of nights, and did not loiter the streets after the sun had set.
The path to a particular playground was dark and absent of people. But the insects sang boldly, and the tree leaves rustled in the breeze. Szandor could make out the form of the jungle-jim from in between some tree branches.
Walking beside Szandor was the three year old Lucia, daughter of Alena Wulf and Raven Lestat; her small hand firmly gripping Szandor’s forefinger. Her short legs walked quickly to keep up, although Szandor had slowed his stride for the girl. And she looked all around her as they walked, gazing up even at Szandor a few times.
The playground was empty, except for two boys around the age of ten who were pushing each other rowdily on the swings. They did not stop as Szandor and the young girl approached.
Szandor guided Lucia to the sandbox where she let go of his finger and sat to play. Just outside the sandpit were a couple of benches; Szandor chose one and sat down, resting his arms on the back of the seat.
He watched the little girl in the sand, seemingly content at playing alone. To him (and perhaps others) it was obvious who her parents were. Her features, although young, reflected her powerful pedigree.
As the moon rose higher, a woman came and took the two boys away from the park.
A gust of wind blew the sand from Lucia’s castle onto her legs and dress; she giggled and looked over at Szandor. Smiling, Szandor stood and walked over to the young girl. He picked her gently up, out of the sand, and brushed some of her dark hair away from her face.
Briefly, Lucia rested her head on Szandor’s chest, but removed it and looked into the man’s face, “Where’s Mama?”
Szandor did not smile, but his eyes were soft to the girl. He set her into the child’s swing, and pushed her gently, “Your mother is making the world a safer place for you, Luci.”
The young girl did not respond, but she kicked her legs and swayed with the motion of the swing. A corner of Szandor’s mouth could not help but lift slightly at this, his Mistress’ daughter.
The sliver moon had risen high into the sky, and the park was dark except for the lights on the street. It had been a couple of nights since either Lucia or Szandor had had some good meat. Szandor would have to go hunting tonight. He scanned the park with his wolf eyes, and even the area beyond the trees, listening for any sound that a Human was outside.
Street lights turned on, but the streets themselves became empty as everyone returned to their homes. For centuries, the cities of Greece had been haunted and ruled by savage Werewolf attacks. And even though the full moon was not out, citizens were still weary of nights, and did not loiter the streets after the sun had set.
The path to a particular playground was dark and absent of people. But the insects sang boldly, and the tree leaves rustled in the breeze. Szandor could make out the form of the jungle-jim from in between some tree branches.
Walking beside Szandor was the three year old Lucia, daughter of Alena Wulf and Raven Lestat; her small hand firmly gripping Szandor’s forefinger. Her short legs walked quickly to keep up, although Szandor had slowed his stride for the girl. And she looked all around her as they walked, gazing up even at Szandor a few times.
The playground was empty, except for two boys around the age of ten who were pushing each other rowdily on the swings. They did not stop as Szandor and the young girl approached.
Szandor guided Lucia to the sandbox where she let go of his finger and sat to play. Just outside the sandpit were a couple of benches; Szandor chose one and sat down, resting his arms on the back of the seat.
He watched the little girl in the sand, seemingly content at playing alone. To him (and perhaps others) it was obvious who her parents were. Her features, although young, reflected her powerful pedigree.
As the moon rose higher, a woman came and took the two boys away from the park.
A gust of wind blew the sand from Lucia’s castle onto her legs and dress; she giggled and looked over at Szandor. Smiling, Szandor stood and walked over to the young girl. He picked her gently up, out of the sand, and brushed some of her dark hair away from her face.
Briefly, Lucia rested her head on Szandor’s chest, but removed it and looked into the man’s face, “Where’s Mama?”
Szandor did not smile, but his eyes were soft to the girl. He set her into the child’s swing, and pushed her gently, “Your mother is making the world a safer place for you, Luci.”
The young girl did not respond, but she kicked her legs and swayed with the motion of the swing. A corner of Szandor’s mouth could not help but lift slightly at this, his Mistress’ daughter.
The sliver moon had risen high into the sky, and the park was dark except for the lights on the street. It had been a couple of nights since either Lucia or Szandor had had some good meat. Szandor would have to go hunting tonight. He scanned the park with his wolf eyes, and even the area beyond the trees, listening for any sound that a Human was outside.