06-01-2018, 02:36 PM
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T he tension that hangs in the air is so thick Wound can almost taste it. It’s bitter and slow in her mouth, tinged with tightly-coiled muscle and the thin bite of dread. With each increasing moment, the silver bay realizes the pair might not be here to be recruited or for a diplomatic visit. There’s an undercurrent of danger that flows beneath their feet, as snarling and threatening as a riptide snatching a child out to sea.The rigidity of the gathering is snapped by the cold scissors of surprise when a familiar blue face appears from the shadow of Tephra. Wound’s own nostrils echo Warrick’s snort; neither of them have seen Longclaw in enough time to presume him gone from the island. The blue warg’s mate had been the one to bring Wound to Tephra (to grace her with the beauty and warmth and love she now has) and the pair had become her dear friends over the first few years of her time on Tephra. Her daughter had played with their children. Concern immediately floods Wound’s coffee-brown eyes. If Longclaw has been lurking in Tephra’s shadows, why would this particular encounter draw him into the light? But he seems to know the larger of the mare’s (the one with the simple expression drawn across her face). While that fact lessens the silver bay’s worries, thick tendrils of anxiety and unease wind through her body. Before she can pull apart Longclaw’s true reason for being here — for still being in Tephra at all — the earth is dying around them. Wound’s brows work together as she steps back, touching her nose to Warrick’s shoulder in a movement to comfort and protect both herself and her Overseer. “What is this?” Her voice is a whisper on the breeze of their mistrust. She’s never seen a gift (or is it a curse, in Ajatar’s case?) like this before, and while it is thrilling to witness it is also terrifying. The entire situation makes Wound’s skin crawl. It would be much easier to turn and flee into Tephra, where the humidity will simmer on her back and drive away the tension. Yet she is braver than that; as much as she would like to leave, she will stand firm beside Warrick. She had told him she will be by his side through thick and thin and Wound is determined to hold herself to that promise. Longclaw’s demands for murder chill the silver bay to the bone. She moves to shift away from Warrick’s side, bringing her silvery body alongside the blue stallion. Although she doesn’t know his angles and curves as well as Femur, she knows Longclaw well enough. Wound’s nose touches his neck (it’s like pressing her fingers against a cocked pistol, at this point) but she immediately recoils at the heat of his skin. He’s burning underneath his blue, so hot and bright she wonders if he will burst into flames. So she takes a singular step away, worry darkening her coffee brown eyes. Wound’s gaze turns toward the pair of mares again at the sound of Warrick’s voice, hopeful they will finally give them a straight answer. |
credit to nat of adoxography.
@[Longclaw] / @[Harmonia] / @[Warrick] / @[Kromium]