/this is a whole lot of rambling lma o you can ignore like 99% of it
The sun sat low in the horizon, casting a warm glow across the white sands stretching out unfathomably before him. The crunch of grass had been replaced by the scuffs of broad paws pressing into sand, leaving behind precise bloodied paw prints from an origin of cracked and neglected pads. Anachronism did not know just for how long he had been traveling, nor did he know how far away he was from home. "Home". If it was God's will he would someday end back there: if they truly craved the power from his soul, mortality would find him without the aid of daggers to his chest. The thickly built wolf drew in shallow breaths as the sand surrounding him irritated his lungs, drying his throat. The desert was not an environment Anachronism was familiar with, nor one he ever thought he'd need to know personally. It was naive to think his life would never change. But he did not expect to have to flee his old home, dulled teeth snapping for his throat to roll him over and cut out his essence. He was weak to flee. He was born with the sole purpose of dying. Every creature opened its eyes to one day close them permanently. Anachronism had toyed around the concept that he wanted to go by natural means, by God's means: but being selected for sacrifice... there was no greater honour. No higher purpose than to be serviced directly to their God. Then why did it horrify him so? Anachronism was the one to carve the heart out of writhing occultists, to recite incantations over their shrieks without a stutter: yet rather than receive his due retribution, he chose instead to run. The air around the brisk canine was still tense with electricity, desperate to snap out to the nearest conductor. Burn marks left his ebony fur charred in jagged patterns across his skin, the paths his uncontrollable lightning had taken to electrocute the attackers that pounced on him before his departure. Anachronism had turned to hurting those he had once respected, defected from those he once obeyed. Physical marks of his treachery, sharp reminders of his sacrilege. His fur would grow back in due time, as it always did. The electrical burns were superficial and hollow in his fur, but his impiety seared his skin more than the desert sun every could.
A wall of bodies had come into sight many minutes ago, pushed from the forefront of his thoughts as instead the black wolf ran on autonomy. But he could no longer ignore it as it hindered his mindless march forward, bright blue eyes fixed unblinkingly on the mangled corpses strung across the BloodClan's edge. Anachronism came to a restless halt, shifting his weight to his right. The particular details of the bodies were shaded, obscured by the setting sun- not that he needed to see them. He had seen plenty of cadavers, fresh and decayed alike. Carried to the tombs shortly after death, or after the crows had feasted upon them for many days. Was this their way of disposing of their dead? Unorthodox, and equally unlikely. Civilizations tended to idolize their deceased, show them more respect than the living. Anachronism's old residence was of no difference. Perhaps it was an act tied to a religion of their own. Electric blue eyes blinked slowly as they rolled off of the bodies, instead peering through the cracks in the decorated stone to watch the rolling seas of sands beyond. Some were born and raised in this harsh climate. Some stumbled into it and perished. The heavy scent of other animals was an indicator that Anachronism would not fall into such a category, at least not for the night. The scarred lupine released a long sigh, sand grating against the top of his throat as he did so- a quick reminder as to why his breathing had been so shallow on his journey here. During his trek he had not been particularly keen on testing his luck as to whether the handful of oasis dotted across the desert were little more than an illusion, pressing forward to BloodClan's border instead. On the chance he was turned down, Anachronism would waste no time in returning to the forest, where streams and brooks were abundant. Abundant enough to not warrant hallucinations.
It was rather grim, to immediately begin crafting plans if he was turned away. But it was pragmatic. If he was turned away, Anachronism did not expect it to be done politely. Not wanting to fuck any chances of residing with the one group he knew even just the slightest about, Anachronism was silent as he waited for someone to approach. Frankly, he wasn't entirely sure as to what was expected of him in the first place. Surely his name, and an explanation as to why a stranger was wishing access to their lands and resources: but the wolf planned on being guarded until he knew exactly how thin they planned on stretching him.