09-17-2017, 11:14 AM
THANA.
(as black as your soul)
She is never far behind.
She is never far from his side.
Quietly, seamlessly, her lithe and agile body moves with fluidity and grace – more reminiscent of the wolf lurking beneath the surface, wanton and waiting. There is a faint sheen of sweat over the darkness of her slate tinted skin as it touches the stark ivory of the wraith that had called for her, while a single lock of vivid ivory lay plastered across her forehead. She does not shy away from Gryffen; instead, in two long, breathless strides, she is beside him, brushing the length of her body across his own before she becomes the prowling wolf, striding forth into the woodland.
Her dark gaze – two-toned, one a dull and dreary gray, the other as dark as the blackness surrounding her – searches the dense thicket and its splendor of color. A wry smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth, and stealthily, she weaves on, brushing her thick and lush fur (as dark and as black as the starless sky) against the dry and brittle bark of each hickory and oak. Her gaze is settled upon a deep scarlet leaf, dangling precariously before her, barely clutching onto the branch from which it had stemmed from –
It is a reminder of the blood she had shed; of the blood that would spill.
With a gentle tilt of her slender neck to the dark and dense canopy, a deep and guttural howl rises and echoes throughout the forest – a declaration; a cry. Come, she beckons with her teeth bared and a snarl rumbling from the column of her throat. let us take what is meant to be ours.
She is never far from his side.
Quietly, seamlessly, her lithe and agile body moves with fluidity and grace – more reminiscent of the wolf lurking beneath the surface, wanton and waiting. There is a faint sheen of sweat over the darkness of her slate tinted skin as it touches the stark ivory of the wraith that had called for her, while a single lock of vivid ivory lay plastered across her forehead. She does not shy away from Gryffen; instead, in two long, breathless strides, she is beside him, brushing the length of her body across his own before she becomes the prowling wolf, striding forth into the woodland.
Her dark gaze – two-toned, one a dull and dreary gray, the other as dark as the blackness surrounding her – searches the dense thicket and its splendor of color. A wry smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth, and stealthily, she weaves on, brushing her thick and lush fur (as dark and as black as the starless sky) against the dry and brittle bark of each hickory and oak. Her gaze is settled upon a deep scarlet leaf, dangling precariously before her, barely clutching onto the branch from which it had stemmed from –
It is a reminder of the blood she had shed; of the blood that would spill.
With a gentle tilt of her slender neck to the dark and dense canopy, a deep and guttural howl rises and echoes throughout the forest – a declaration; a cry. Come, she beckons with her teeth bared and a snarl rumbling from the column of her throat. let us take what is meant to be ours.