09-07-2017, 01:44 PM
THANA.
(as black as your soul)
She is never far.
When his voice reaches her, her interest is piqued – he did not often call if he did not have something of interest to say, or something of substance to bring to her attention. She is roused from the tranquility of her solitude, as her long and agile legs lift her lithe and slender canine body from the dampened soil, searching the frigidity of the gentle breeze for a trace of his scent. He is seeking her, a wraith stark and bright against the darkness of the vegetation, while she, a shadow personified, carries herself through the thicket with deft precision.
She does not remain a wolf – her swift and prowling stride is soon little more than a saunter, as her legs elongate, giving way to her natural equine bone structure. Her gaze, nonetheless, is the same, two-toned and searching the seemingly endless darkness of the woodland, while thick fog envelopes her in its icy chill. Her soft and downy fur is soon sleek and flattened over the length of her sloping spine, as her shapely and muscled legs carry her deeper into the forest, his voice soft and echoing somewhere within. It does not take her long to find him.
And when she does, he is not alone – and there is a shadow of a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth, and a glint of mischief shining in her single, dreary gray eye. Her once tousled mane lay damply across the slender curve of her neck, where droplets of rain trickle down her column, falling into the ridges where muscle and tissue lay across the canvas of her bones. She does not go to him, though she yearns to press her skin flush against his own and to pluck the vegetation entangled once again within his pale tresses.
Rather, she is still and breathless before him, while her gaze hungrily searches his own, longing to know why he had called her from the shadows. There is a quiet stirring of giddiness within the roiling pit of her belly as her empty, soulless black eye roves over the youth following behind him, anxious and eager to know of what is on her wraith King’s mind – all the while aware that somewhere hidden away within the copse of pine trees beyond him, someone was watching.
When his voice reaches her, her interest is piqued – he did not often call if he did not have something of interest to say, or something of substance to bring to her attention. She is roused from the tranquility of her solitude, as her long and agile legs lift her lithe and slender canine body from the dampened soil, searching the frigidity of the gentle breeze for a trace of his scent. He is seeking her, a wraith stark and bright against the darkness of the vegetation, while she, a shadow personified, carries herself through the thicket with deft precision.
She does not remain a wolf – her swift and prowling stride is soon little more than a saunter, as her legs elongate, giving way to her natural equine bone structure. Her gaze, nonetheless, is the same, two-toned and searching the seemingly endless darkness of the woodland, while thick fog envelopes her in its icy chill. Her soft and downy fur is soon sleek and flattened over the length of her sloping spine, as her shapely and muscled legs carry her deeper into the forest, his voice soft and echoing somewhere within. It does not take her long to find him.
And when she does, he is not alone – and there is a shadow of a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth, and a glint of mischief shining in her single, dreary gray eye. Her once tousled mane lay damply across the slender curve of her neck, where droplets of rain trickle down her column, falling into the ridges where muscle and tissue lay across the canvas of her bones. She does not go to him, though she yearns to press her skin flush against his own and to pluck the vegetation entangled once again within his pale tresses.
Rather, she is still and breathless before him, while her gaze hungrily searches his own, longing to know why he had called her from the shadows. There is a quiet stirring of giddiness within the roiling pit of her belly as her empty, soulless black eye roves over the youth following behind him, anxious and eager to know of what is on her wraith King’s mind – all the while aware that somewhere hidden away within the copse of pine trees beyond him, someone was watching.
@[Gryffen] @[Dynast] @[Modicum Mortem]