Let's write a story...

Okay... I've been sitting here for the last 20 minutes, distracted but thinking, and I cannot ponder a topic. So... Let's try something else. Let's do an intro.

The cold air clouds out of the beast's nostrils, warm air meeting below frozen, the vapors from his lungs immediately freezing into white, dropping as lead into the crisp snow fallen the night before. The tavern had changed so from the last time the trio had visited, practically lived here. There were new faces with the same attitudes; new bosses and new wallflowers, though with all behaving the same as before, bosses in charge, otehrs hanging back, allowing those who had proven themselves to step forward and take command. The old crowd, with all of its confortably friendly faces and known personalities, had gone; driven away by the indomitable crowd that had wrought its magick in the buildings hollow shell, demanding a newer, more flexible mind to change with it. There were still a few, refusing to be shoved off the stage, old bosses reduced to lookers-on, their spirits broken, their demeanors no longer the fiesty, lively young men and women of old, but darker, somber, more brooding temperments taken over, assuring them their place as "old grumps" in the minds of the newcomers.

All this swirls through the mind of the trio, passing from the woman to the beasts, and them responding in turn, offering their own comments for her to assess. On their last visit, they had been cloaked, strangers to this tavern which they'd known so well in another life, and even old friends, sitting by them, did not recognize them for who they were. A spark of memory in the eyes at the sight of the peculiarly colored wolf; maybe at his outstanding height, or distinctly marked coat, and then, a self-depreciating smirk, as they remember that, "Oh yes... it could not be so... they died a full ten years aught. They found the carcasses in the woods." And they would turn away, that smirk reflected in their eyes, a shake to their heads, before taking a swig of their drink, heads thrown back, throats exposed to strangers, as if daring them to make a move, defiant and calculatedly careless. The thought would swirl for a few moments more, then be drown as the warmth hit their belly and they could no longer feel the pain of their brandings, the cool remarks made when others thought they were too drunk to notice...

((Okay... Just got yelled at. Next installment tomorrow, or maybe the next day. Writing keeps me sane... It keeps me going when times are tough. But I never finish stories... I hate to end them, they should jsut go on and on forever, so don't expect this one to end either... It will jsut... die out.)