07-14-2018, 11:59 AM
IVAN ZIMAVICH BRAGINSKY ✧ russian bear dog — proxy — tags[/color]
He had went off for a few days and for good reason. He had journeyed out of he territory- a prospect that had terrified him, until he went as far as finding a human town. He played dumb and cheery around the figures, memories coming back to him in vague images.
Of once walking upright. In the unforgiving russian snow....
He had found a book store, and his target. Russian books. He was only able to carry two in his mouth as he ran away- a Bible, and another religious tomb. He felt overjoyed at this and hoped the lord would forgive him for stealing. He moved briskly, following his own scent trail back, until he reserved at his den.
That was a few days ago. Now there were attempted knits and him trying to tie sticks together all around his floor. Nothing worked, but the bear dog eventually had close to what he wanted- the Russian cross, out of yarn. He attached the pink thing to a string.
The bear dog, seemingly satisfied, had set up a little corner in his home to worship at. While he was still stuggling to remember the grasps of his own religion now, he felt he had some grasp of himself and who he used to be.
Maybe they preferred the fool.
He growled, opening the door slightly and kneeling down in front of the corner, as close as he could get to praying, and looked at the other book he had, reciting prayers from the book and trying to remember what they meant. The context of the words.
Why would Jesus let your tormented soul into heaven? You’re living amoung thieves....
Of once walking upright. In the unforgiving russian snow....
He had found a book store, and his target. Russian books. He was only able to carry two in his mouth as he ran away- a Bible, and another religious tomb. He felt overjoyed at this and hoped the lord would forgive him for stealing. He moved briskly, following his own scent trail back, until he reserved at his den.
That was a few days ago. Now there were attempted knits and him trying to tie sticks together all around his floor. Nothing worked, but the bear dog eventually had close to what he wanted- the Russian cross, out of yarn. He attached the pink thing to a string.
The bear dog, seemingly satisfied, had set up a little corner in his home to worship at. While he was still stuggling to remember the grasps of his own religion now, he felt he had some grasp of himself and who he used to be.
Maybe they preferred the fool.
He growled, opening the door slightly and kneeling down in front of the corner, as close as he could get to praying, and looked at the other book he had, reciting prayers from the book and trying to remember what they meant. The context of the words.
Why would Jesus let your tormented soul into heaven? You’re living amoung thieves....
© madi