honorable mentions ;; open!

[docile]

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[atrb=background,http://i270.photobucket.com/albums/jj106/horselandsixion/Graphics/ace3.jpg][scrolly:h(135),w(394),sy,c()] I own this neighborhood. It is all mine. Mine. the fae thought, looking around the streets of Lendermin Town, a small unit outside of Enigma City. No one else has claimed it, and I've lived here my entire life. No mutt will steal it from me. Omerace, you must understand, is very territorial. Once she fights for something, anything, she thinks that she "owns" it, in her terms. It is the way of the wild, so it is also her way. Ace is a nice girl, now, but solidarity has not been her friend. It has driven the lass to be slightly greedy and a little trigger-happy, so please be kind to this babe, for me. I am nothing but the narrator of her story, watching from a safe distance to speak in first- and second person about a young wolf whom I've come to adore. You may see insights into her life, through her eyes or mine, thoughts on situations from multiple viewpoints, or even hear a miniature tale, all for the purpose of your entertainment. This dame is about four years old, give or take on the months. Her coat is white, a face inlaid with golden medallions. Pretty, no? She was quite riled, which was unlike the girl. I could tell she was upset with the new dog-scents in her area. They should never have made it past. Sometimes she would let them be, but today the heat must be getting to her, for her feet were dragging her towards the "Station", once used for the police, but currently devoid of the humanity that made use of the structure. It was a favorite hangout for her, where she went whenever her emotions were too wacky for her to handle. I find it almost painful to watch, but I cannot do anything to help, simply a guardian angel without the willpower to touch down on earth and assuage the needs of my charges. Anyways, Omerace slipped into the building, checking for the humans, though I already knew none were present. She hunkered down beneath the closest desk to the door, something that looked like it belonged to a secretary of sorts. The desktop was littered with stray pens, pencils, paper, documents, and clipped periodicals. To the girl's nose, no doubt it smelled nasty, somewhat musty and humid. No one had opened the door nor window in the last twenty-four hours, except for Ace, who'd whisked herself in before much of the stuffy air could escape. Her tongue lolled from her mouth; I could read the look of concentration by the creases on her face. She was deep in thinking, her forehead scrunched up like it always did when her thoughts were troubled or complex. You see! I do know my girl well. Walking ;; "talking" ;; thinking ;; 479 words [/scrolly]

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