Post by Griffin on Jan 13, 2009 20:02:44 GMT -5
The otter looked the same as he always did-haversack over his broad shoulder, long wood staff carried in one paw. He looked the same. But inside, Michael (Griff) Griffin was changed. The pain he had been facing for the last few days was out of control in an insane rampage. The otter always looked calmer than he really was-now his eyes were closed, his muscles relaxed, his hands loose at his side. His grin-the wide, familiar grin-was still the exact same, betraying nothing. He had seen blood, plenty of blood, creatures killing others, but nothing upset him more than having to sit back and do absolutely nothing about it.
His hand tightened fiercely on the staff, causing a small crack to appear. Cursing under his breath, an uncharacteristic frown creased Griff's muzzle as he stared up at the red sandstone abbey. The grin returned as the otter rested a paw on an aspen trunk. Automatically, the uses of the tree rushed through his head. Binding strips for wounds, firewood... He twitched his ears and set the sack down. The sun was dipping below the horizon, and Griffin's eyes targeted a white oak nearby. He scooped up the sack again and dashed over to the tree.
He pulled two long scraps of material out of the sack and clambered up the tree, laying one scrap on the branch. He jumped back down, picked up his haversack, and tied it on a tall branch on the tree, adding his staff into it. Half of the wooden pole stuck out, but he ignored it and sat down where he had put the material earlier. Laying down, he covered himself with the other scrap and closed his eyes.
His hand tightened fiercely on the staff, causing a small crack to appear. Cursing under his breath, an uncharacteristic frown creased Griff's muzzle as he stared up at the red sandstone abbey. The grin returned as the otter rested a paw on an aspen trunk. Automatically, the uses of the tree rushed through his head. Binding strips for wounds, firewood... He twitched his ears and set the sack down. The sun was dipping below the horizon, and Griffin's eyes targeted a white oak nearby. He scooped up the sack again and dashed over to the tree.
He pulled two long scraps of material out of the sack and clambered up the tree, laying one scrap on the branch. He jumped back down, picked up his haversack, and tied it on a tall branch on the tree, adding his staff into it. Half of the wooden pole stuck out, but he ignored it and sat down where he had put the material earlier. Laying down, he covered himself with the other scrap and closed his eyes.
