I'm starting to get a little bored now, so I decided to post some of the story I'm writing:
1.
The fox bounded through the snowy wood, followed by her fading tracks and the thunderclap of gunshot. They day was drowsy and gray. The world was blurry as the future. The sun had taken a day off. This all worked to Valora's advantage, for she was the criminal being chased today. Her coat was like a streak of fire. Flashing through the trees. This worked to the farmer's advantage, who she had stolen from.
BANG! Bark flew off the ash tree to her left a, foot from her ragged pelt. Valora's sides heaved, the gray-white tugged at the corners of her vision. A flash of gold caught her eye.
Another bang, like the thunder that follows lighting. And Valora was the eye of that tempest. She lept over a fallen log, the crunching of snow under a boot came from behind her. Her tracks were already gone. The snow had begun to fall.
It grew heavier, the downpour of sudden white, as if an eagle had pierced the clouds with its wings. Valora thought she was free.
The last shot rang out.
She yelped as something struck her leg. Tumbling, she slammed softly into the trunk of the willow, its long curved branches forming a protective hood above her. No more shots rang out. The day, or night perhaps, for Valora had lost track of time, was quiet. At least, as quiet as you can get in the forest.
She inspected her leg, it didn't look bad. The bullet had merely grazed her leg. If it didn't get infected she might not even have a scar.
Then the rest of the world set in. It was snowing, and cold, and bitter. The wind pierced Valora's fur like needles falling with the white. Valora was hungry, hungry enough to steal from man, which she had never done before.
She sighed. The snow had not cleared, Valora decided to wait under the willow for it to lift. For the clouds to be sewn and the sky to again be a sapphire blue.
She did not recall having sleep claim her, but her body was worn and weary, so it found her like it found all other eventually.
She dreamed of a bird like no other. It was the size of an eagle, but unlike one in many ways. It's feathers were golden-orange, its long extravagant tail ending in sunset red. Valora felt as if she were staring into a hearth. Its head was adorned with a crest of fiery shades, orange, yellow, red, and gold. She looked like the sun had become nestled in the feathers of a bird.
Valora felt weary, but not because of the bird, but her own day.
"Kitsune," the bird said, her voice was desperate, her emerald eyes were sad. Like she was missing something important.
"Who are you?" Valora asked. The words poured from her throat in a different language.
"I am Lystra, the phoenix," Lystra replied, her voice tight, "Find me or I am the last of my kind."
Valora awoke, cold and tired. The snow had cleared and a very odd sight awaited her.
Surrounded by pale, cool snow, was a patch of grass. Green as a spring day. Alive.
Valora's blood ran cold.
"Fox," came the voice of the bird, melodic and sad, yet entrancing.
Valora looked around, but saw nothing. She sniffed at the grass and the snow and the brittle air. Nothing but the scent of herself and winter.
Valora's eyes darted everywhere.
It had to be an Omen.
"Find me or I an the last of my kind."
If anyone likes it I'll type up more.
1.
The fox bounded through the snowy wood, followed by her fading tracks and the thunderclap of gunshot. They day was drowsy and gray. The world was blurry as the future. The sun had taken a day off. This all worked to Valora's advantage, for she was the criminal being chased today. Her coat was like a streak of fire. Flashing through the trees. This worked to the farmer's advantage, who she had stolen from.
BANG! Bark flew off the ash tree to her left a, foot from her ragged pelt. Valora's sides heaved, the gray-white tugged at the corners of her vision. A flash of gold caught her eye.
Another bang, like the thunder that follows lighting. And Valora was the eye of that tempest. She lept over a fallen log, the crunching of snow under a boot came from behind her. Her tracks were already gone. The snow had begun to fall.
It grew heavier, the downpour of sudden white, as if an eagle had pierced the clouds with its wings. Valora thought she was free.
The last shot rang out.
She yelped as something struck her leg. Tumbling, she slammed softly into the trunk of the willow, its long curved branches forming a protective hood above her. No more shots rang out. The day, or night perhaps, for Valora had lost track of time, was quiet. At least, as quiet as you can get in the forest.
She inspected her leg, it didn't look bad. The bullet had merely grazed her leg. If it didn't get infected she might not even have a scar.
Then the rest of the world set in. It was snowing, and cold, and bitter. The wind pierced Valora's fur like needles falling with the white. Valora was hungry, hungry enough to steal from man, which she had never done before.
She sighed. The snow had not cleared, Valora decided to wait under the willow for it to lift. For the clouds to be sewn and the sky to again be a sapphire blue.
She did not recall having sleep claim her, but her body was worn and weary, so it found her like it found all other eventually.
She dreamed of a bird like no other. It was the size of an eagle, but unlike one in many ways. It's feathers were golden-orange, its long extravagant tail ending in sunset red. Valora felt as if she were staring into a hearth. Its head was adorned with a crest of fiery shades, orange, yellow, red, and gold. She looked like the sun had become nestled in the feathers of a bird.
Valora felt weary, but not because of the bird, but her own day.
"Kitsune," the bird said, her voice was desperate, her emerald eyes were sad. Like she was missing something important.
"Who are you?" Valora asked. The words poured from her throat in a different language.
"I am Lystra, the phoenix," Lystra replied, her voice tight, "Find me or I am the last of my kind."
Valora awoke, cold and tired. The snow had cleared and a very odd sight awaited her.
Surrounded by pale, cool snow, was a patch of grass. Green as a spring day. Alive.
Valora's blood ran cold.
"Fox," came the voice of the bird, melodic and sad, yet entrancing.
Valora looked around, but saw nothing. She sniffed at the grass and the snow and the brittle air. Nothing but the scent of herself and winter.
Valora's eyes darted everywhere.
It had to be an Omen.
"Find me or I an the last of my kind."
If anyone likes it I'll type up more.
