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The beginning of The End [DIORAE] - Longclaw - 08-17-2017 Don't be afraid when the night wolves cry, feast on their bones, suck the marrow dry. It is the season of the hunt. Autumn dons her cloak of fiery red and crown of gold with the authority of centuries past and yet to come, while her subjects change their summer dance to a slow, unhurried waltz. Between the bend of trunk and limb Longclaw is weaving, nose quivering at the fore of his face while at the aft, his ears pick up the semblance of a quarreling squirrel’s tet-a-tet; food is growing scarce and those who gather must resort to base means for survival: stealing, hiding, perhaps even a challenge for den rights here and there. But Longclaw is situated near the top of this food chain, above even his own kind for they, unlike him, do not all possess the ability to trade their skin for a more suitable one. And my, how his skin does suit him. It is silver in coloration, glimmering along his shoulders, belly, and spine like gossamer threads that glint whenever the spotted sunlight chances to glance down upon him. About his legs and belly it bleeds to a mute grey, lending him shadow while his eyes and snout are kept white-washed. A wolf, he is, lean and leonine, focused wholly on a singular goal that gives his muscular body purpose in every step, every twitch of muscle or hide. Like nature herself, centuries have shaped him to be an agile, perfect predator with the ever-present law of kill or be killed humming in his breast. It’s this law that drives him now out of the heart of his cover and into the sparsely adorned stretch of grassland, treading quietly, quickly, over the earth with muted paws to the riverbank where his prey will be gathering to drink. Still too early yet to be called dawn, the wetness of last night’s dewcover now soak his legs and belly through but it serves as no distraction from the endgame. He switches direction; a breeze scuttles by and keeps him now downwind of what he’s hunting and when he can safely go no further without detection, he stops. Inching, barrel set low to the ground, he shoulders past the slim curtain of drying grass and peers out with wide, vibrant green eyes upriver to settle on a kill. Alone, haloed by the rising eastern sun, is a lovely mare. Longclaw @[Diorae] RE: The beginning of The End [DIORAE] - Diorae - 08-21-2017 -Diorae- A beautiful face is a mute recommendation. RE: The beginning of The End [DIORAE] - Longclaw - 08-21-2017 Don't be afraid when the night wolves cry, feast on their bones, suck the marrow dry. Dreamlike, almost; the way she dips first one hoof and then the other into the roiling waters. The echo of her hiss causes both ears to involuntarily flick backwards - had someone else heard her? Was she supposed to be here, alone like this? A few more minutes of motionless observance proves his questions to be easily answered: Yes, she was alone, (couldn’t he see it in the quivering of that tender, lower lip?) and no, her exclamation of pain had not drawn other curious eyes. It was simply them, then. Longclaw cannot believe his odds, it seem too incredulous to consider. To come looking for an early chase and instead find this? Hungrily, impatiently, his viridian eyes drink in the sloping lines of her rounded neck, travel tastelessly over pleasantly sprung ribs and achingly plump hips. He could kill her. Right now. It takes only a second for the thought to enter, present itself, and settle at the center of his mind; the task would be so simple, so easy. But - bah - what a waste. True, consummation of this idea to reality would satiate the present hunger in his gut, could even quiet the black curse, roaring for a blood sacrifice, inside of him. Yet, for all the hunger in the world Longclaw wouldn’t waste the opportunity to flex the muscle of his coy, convincing demeanor. Pride in his abilities overwhelms the need for a kill so, quickly, quietly, he lays belly-to-earth and shifts as noiselessly as he can manage back into the glimmering stallion of lore. His head rises above the swaying forage now, looking (for all innocent bystanders) like a lazy fellow who’s just awoken from a riverside nap. But his eyes, those terrible, beautiful eyes, find her swiftly once more and then he is rising, flowing, into a standing position. “Hello there.” He calls from afar - every trick of light over his skin turning it first to green, then to gold as he pushes towards her. “Your noise woke me, I’m afraid.” Claw explains with a unassuming smile. On the bank near to her he stops, every aesthetic line of his alluring face twisting into compassion, worry - all for her. “Are you alright?” Longclaw RE: The beginning of The End [DIORAE] - Diorae - 08-21-2017 -Diorae- A beautiful face is a mute recommendation. RE: The beginning of The End [DIORAE] - Longclaw - 08-22-2017 Don't be afraid when the night wolves cry, feast on their bones, suck the marrow dry. He hasn’t figured it out yet - that she’s mute. Longclaw is scratching the surface though; when she backs at first and continues to tepidly remain distant (those honey-bright eyes widened in apparent fear but all the while her trembling is ceasing and, well, she hasn’t run yet) he’s reminded of a cornered animal. Instinctively, the shifter is aware that this is the final moment before death. He takes it in now, aware at all times that even though death will not come for her, it could’ve: A frail, immobile bird. In her widened stare he can sense the need for flight, it sharpens what normally would be soft about her. Could one cut a finger on the tension between them? Where, oh where, are her wings though? Who has clipped them from her spine and left her here to bleed freely? She is injured, the uncovered portions of her hindlegs are spotted with semi-healed boils that draw his attention for a brief moment though he doesn’t linger; that would be rude. “Hey now, easy - easy…” Longclaw hums, his own voice reaching a tenderness he hasn’t been able to emulate in years. That glimmering body sparkles no more. He’s still, perfectly so in the way all true, top-tier predators must learn before success comes to them in the hunt. If he wishes to keep her here (and believe me, he does) he’ll need patience, of which he has plenty, and a little bit of his old self. That ghost still lingers somewhere within, he’s sure of it - the curse can’t have spread so quickly, so fully just yet. Could it? In mild irritation he sighs, that once prevalent smile dwindling to a sad grin. “I won’t come any closer, I promise.” For a moment more he simply watches her. Then, his forehooves are crossing over one another and he’s making as if to turn aside, to turn away, from the startled mare. “In fact, I’ll just go.” The stallion relates, despairing green eyes growing heavy with defeat. “Plenty of other places to nap, I know. I just …” He dwindles, lips pressing firmly together as if he’s struggling to admit this to her, “I just couldn’t help myself. You’re so … beautiful, and you seem hurt, so I thought perhaps I could help.” The words tumble past his lips in one exhalation, his blue-speckled face shaking side-to-side with boyish sweetness. “Dumb, I know. I’ll just go.” The stallion cements, completing the turn so that he might begin to actually put action to his words. Each step seems pained, prolonged; he even manages to twist his head around one final time just to glance back at her. The agony of that one look could render mountains to dust but he doesn’t stop, just keeps moving ahead with his ears tilted mournfully back in the hopes that she might be moved enough to follow. Sometimes, the art of winning looks like defeat. Longclaw RE: The beginning of The End [DIORAE] - Diorae - 09-01-2017 -Diorae- A beautiful face is a mute recommendation. OOC: Guess I haven't written enough lately XD. RE: The beginning of The End [DIORAE] - Longclaw - 09-12-2017 Don't be afraid when the night wolves cry, feast on their bones, suck the marrow dry. This one knows fear like a lover. The way she responds is mouthwatering - every tentative step as she races towards him from behind only solidifying those numerous assumptions he’s already built about her. It had been a risk to turn away, (foolish, headstrong pride tells him otherwise) she might have chosen the opportunity to flee and find herself safe once more in the cover of the wood - but she hadn’t. Instead, she falls neatly (meekly) into line with the very motion of his step. Longclaw glances back, feigns mild surprise; just look at the way that tender head dropped! How heavy her lids become with determination! The will to please and therefore be accepted has never been so strong in any creature he’s encountered before. The cursed stallion drinks in the attention, savors it with quiet appraisal and the flicker of a smirk, and then tilts his mouth towards her ear as if to share a secret. “I’m glad you came, mute beauty.” He tells her, every word heavy with some unspoken pleasure. Spread like a golden feast before him the shadow his lips passes over her soft cheek and he’s tempted, so tempted to taste that broken flesh of hers. “I’ll see to it that no one ever hurts you again.” He promises her instead, and the moment passes even though his heart thuds sickly. The entrancing pressure of his emerald gaze, the swirl of his hot breath as it billowed over her cheek; both seem to dissolve the world until only the two remain to peruse side-by-side, blue-by-gold. “I thought you might’ve been kissed by the sun, sweet Merigold.” The stallion laughs under his breath, blinking gently before turning to gaze ahead where the path home begins to unfold. “Merigold, hmm.” Longclaw mulls, and the name seems to roll nicely among his thoughts. The palomino has yet to utter a word and now, the reality of her being devoid of speech has begun to set in. My, what a curious sort of prey after all. “Should you come with me, then?” He asks quite suddenly, drawing up to a stop where the shoreline touches the water. He’d been so wrapped up in … them that he hadn’t even noticed how much land they’d put between themselves and the River. Tephra looms just there in the distance but he turns once more to glance at her with tortured eyes. “Do you want to come with me?” Longclaw @[Diorae] RE: The beginning of The End [DIORAE] - Diorae - 09-20-2017 -Diorae- A beautiful face is a mute recommendation. RE: The beginning of The End [DIORAE] - Longclaw - 10-02-2017 Don't be afraid when the night wolves cry, feast on their bones, suck the marrow dry. He’s found something in Diorae that beckons the darkest parts of himself to the surface. Though her golden skin reminds him of his favorite ghost-girl, when it trails across his shoulder in the shape of her lips he strikes gently - an empty nip right above the bridge of her nose. There seemed to be nothing, and yet everything in the shape of that warning; Diorae herself might feel no pain from it but the message had been clear enough: You’re to be touched, not the other way around. But she’s new to this, so he forgives her. The nip is followed by the brush of his shimmering tail as it flicks sideways to glide over her hind legs, and then he’s moving forward into the expanse of churning water. Longclaw himself won’t look back for her, though the creatures of the air peer down with enough interest. Land creatures, taking to the sea … how odd! Soon, though, their cries and joyful wheeling are gone and all that remains is the looming shape of Tephra’s volcano in the distance. The two tread carefully enough, that singular, smoking goal in mind. They’ll never reach it, or rather, Diorae will never reach it, but that certain end seems not to bother them - even as Longclaw halts and turns bare, white eyes to her trailing form. Carnage will take and shape her, and Longclaw will be all the happier for it. Longclaw |