Don't be afraid when the night wolves cry,
feast on their bones, suck the marrow dry.
feast on their bones, suck the marrow dry.
Had she been indentured into hermitage her whole life? “Are there many other lands to visit?” “A whole world full of them.” Is his reply, and it comes in the form of hushed awe. Intrinsically his tongue glides out, flickers over puckering fangs to pierce the wall of his lips and taste the air. Heavy with the last of summer’s humidity it tells him many things; their time to travel by the safety of daylight is waning, this autumn would be pregnant with rainfall and, in turn, would give them a bitter winter, but most importantly: that Ajatar lacked any sense of self-preservation over this journey. There was neither the acrid taste of fear nor the salty bite of her sweat for him to savor over.
It was almost as if she’d never known terror.
Curious indeed. “I’ll lead the way, happily.” Longclaw chuckles, borrowing the mantle of tour guide for her sake (and only her sake) alone. “Though,” He adds, swinging portside in an arc as his forelegs cross over one another to point him, bodily, North, “I hope you can swim, or else I may have to do more than just lead.” The glimmering stallion warns, pushing ahead to make tracks so that Ajatar might follow. Her earlier question assaults him now, playing repeatedly in that same, soft mantra she’d spoken in earlier, “When you’re a child do you have control over anything?”
“No one has control.” He wants to tell her now, even though the moment has come too late, “Fate fucks us all bloody.”
Briefly, he glances back to the scaled girl; she lives, breathes, hasn’t disappeared like some strange ghost into the bright afternoon. Smiling, almost as if to himself, the pyromancer turns back and lengthens his stride.
It was almost as if she’d never known terror.
Curious indeed. “I’ll lead the way, happily.” Longclaw chuckles, borrowing the mantle of tour guide for her sake (and only her sake) alone. “Though,” He adds, swinging portside in an arc as his forelegs cross over one another to point him, bodily, North, “I hope you can swim, or else I may have to do more than just lead.” The glimmering stallion warns, pushing ahead to make tracks so that Ajatar might follow. Her earlier question assaults him now, playing repeatedly in that same, soft mantra she’d spoken in earlier, “When you’re a child do you have control over anything?”
“No one has control.” He wants to tell her now, even though the moment has come too late, “Fate fucks us all bloody.”
Briefly, he glances back to the scaled girl; she lives, breathes, hasn’t disappeared like some strange ghost into the bright afternoon. Smiling, almost as if to himself, the pyromancer turns back and lengthens his stride.
Longclaw
@[Kortnee] See you in Tephra?
![[Image: sScEgld.png]](http://i.imgur.com/sScEgld.png)