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  • Beqanna

    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura


    deep roots are not reached by the frost ~ any
    #2

    Crevan

    We forget all the names that we used to know

    The command is easily met with answer. Like a tan wraith Crevan rises from his crouched position behind a sparse bush, every inch of movement pushing him higher and higher until, finally, he is towering over the finely-made fox and looking down upon her with curiously surprised eyes. Nightlock in color, a blue-black bruise of an eyeshade, his gaze sweeps fore and aft of that red-gold body before one pale paw stretches forth to plant solidly into the earth. The others will follow and they draw out the rest of his massive form: a wolf of gargantuan measures, even more boldly made than his grandsire, who had been the largest of their lineage until Crevan was born. They are humorously at odds, the two of them, though at one point in their ancestry they were rather close to the trunk of one another.

    But time has stretched their branches far away now and while they both maintain a predators stance, the differences could not be more apparent. “That’s a rather bold way to start things, little cousin.” The wolf-boy smarts, eager to make a joke of their close relation by saddling her with a familiar title. “But it probably saved your life. You look like an easy meal out here, you know. What with your flashy color and your playful racket.” He tells her. He means, of course, her little zipping back and forth that had stirred not only his attention but probably other unwanted eyes too.

    “If you’re trying to be stealthy, you’re doing it all wrong.” He says with finality, because unlike her Crevan believes himself to be well-versed on these matters. He never stops to consider that stealth might not have been her objective. “Besides, you’re straying very close to kingdom territory and - trust me - that’s not where you want to be.”

    In conclusion he sits, still peering down at her with that sour expression. It comes to him suddenly that this is his first encounter with another shifter; that’s what she’s got to be, isn’t it? Other, natural creatures didn’t speak their language. “I’m Crevan. Do you have any other forms?”

    Then our skin gets thicker, living out in the snow

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    RE: deep roots are not reached by the frost ~ any - by Crevan - 08-17-2017, 04:01 PM



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