10-11-2017, 05:46 PM
THANA.
(as black as your soul)
”Settle yourself,” she croons from deep within the dimly lit woodland, as her voice echoes off of the cluster of hickory and beech, while her pitchless black of her shoulder presses itself indolently against the starkness of the pale wood. ”I mean you no harm.”
Yet. Nothing is promised with her.
The indigo is no longer – when she is a wolf, she is blanketed only in darkness, with only a tuft of ivory along the crown of her head and the soulless, colorless iris of one eye to pair with the familiar, dismal gray of the other to give her away. Her body is lithe, agile, but she is carved of muscle and bone, same as he – her teeth gleaming in the shadow as her long and languid legs carry her with ease, unsheathing her silhouette from the obscurity of the forest.
Her broad, flexing claws grip softly at the fertile soil beneath her weight – sifting the filth and grime, feeling it entangle with the soft tufts of hair between each soft, rounded toe – so unlike the blunt pedestal that her hooves held her sinewy, feminine bone structure on when she assumed the form of her brethren. It soothed her to be within the carnivorous physique birthed to her by happenstance.
It felt as natural and as whole as anything ever had for her – she felt closer to the blistering sun, to the wayward moon – her teeth and talons capable of ripping into flesh she could only dream of maiming with her blunt teeth and rounded hooves. She wondered if he knew the same satisfaction she had come to know, tasting blood, knowing death as she did. She yearned to know.
She moves closer, effortlessly – the gentle breeze weaving through her thick, bristling fur as she encircles him, observing him – each limb accounted for; his eye socket mended and his lesions restored. ”Perfection,” she nearly murmurs across the length of his left ear, a wry smile rising to her dark mouth as it twitches from the warmth of her breath. ”you look as if you were never hurt at all. That is quite a gift, Crevan,” she utters softly, her gaze boring into his own as her plush tail is lifted, swaying to and fro as her own ears perk with intrigue. ”what else can you do?”
Yet. Nothing is promised with her.
The indigo is no longer – when she is a wolf, she is blanketed only in darkness, with only a tuft of ivory along the crown of her head and the soulless, colorless iris of one eye to pair with the familiar, dismal gray of the other to give her away. Her body is lithe, agile, but she is carved of muscle and bone, same as he – her teeth gleaming in the shadow as her long and languid legs carry her with ease, unsheathing her silhouette from the obscurity of the forest.
Her broad, flexing claws grip softly at the fertile soil beneath her weight – sifting the filth and grime, feeling it entangle with the soft tufts of hair between each soft, rounded toe – so unlike the blunt pedestal that her hooves held her sinewy, feminine bone structure on when she assumed the form of her brethren. It soothed her to be within the carnivorous physique birthed to her by happenstance.
It felt as natural and as whole as anything ever had for her – she felt closer to the blistering sun, to the wayward moon – her teeth and talons capable of ripping into flesh she could only dream of maiming with her blunt teeth and rounded hooves. She wondered if he knew the same satisfaction she had come to know, tasting blood, knowing death as she did. She yearned to know.
She moves closer, effortlessly – the gentle breeze weaving through her thick, bristling fur as she encircles him, observing him – each limb accounted for; his eye socket mended and his lesions restored. ”Perfection,” she nearly murmurs across the length of his left ear, a wry smile rising to her dark mouth as it twitches from the warmth of her breath. ”you look as if you were never hurt at all. That is quite a gift, Crevan,” she utters softly, her gaze boring into his own as her plush tail is lifted, swaying to and fro as her own ears perk with intrigue. ”what else can you do?”