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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
    #3
    Merida
    from the ashes, a fire shall be awoken
    Still bristled and snarling, Merida is not disappointed when a figure, albeit a large one, emerges from the dense shadows of the tall trees. Her features are sharp and curious, miniscule and fine compared to the large wolf, who towers over her as his legs extend fully. Her ears press backwards, her small, sharp teeth still revealing themselves in a snarl, her tiny pink tongue showing in between the canines. Her tail swishes in aggravation, her shoulders bringing themselves together as she continues to crouch, ready to leap up to take a bite of him if needed. A brave little thing, despite their sizable differences, and the fact that her tiny mouth might not even hit the jugular of his thick, fur-covered neck even if she tried.

    “It’s rather bold to hide in the shadows and wait for an unsuspecting passerby,” she retorts, though part of her new that his advice is sound and true – but her form is new to her, and though she would never admit it (especially to a stranger), she is still learning the ways of the fox and to leave her equine habits locked away while she was in this form. He walks around her, surveying her and studying her. Her wildfire red eyes follow him, her crouched position turning with him on slender, maroon-colored legs. Finally he sits and only then does the fur on her back begin to relax, though the snarl on her face seems rather permanent.

    Stealth is something she hadn’t thought of yet, or even learned. His matter-of-factness, however, causes her to growl in response. “I know what I’m doing,” she lies, straightening her spine to mimic his posture, laying her bushy tail across her tiny and slender paws as she sits before him. The large wolf gives her his name and the black of her lips fall across her teeth, no longer snarling openly at him, but the blazing of her red eyes still bore into him with a fiery stare. “Merida,” she gives him, throwing her little black nose upwards as she did so. Still proud and unable to relinquish her haughty gaze, her eyes narrow slightly as she asks in a slightly less confident voice: “Is it that obvious?” Of course, referring to the fact that being a fox was obviously not her natural form, and that she wasn’t a very good one, at that.


    @[Crevan]
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    RE: deep roots are not reached by the frost ~ any - by Merida - 08-20-2017, 10:07 AM



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