intrigued by first impressions; offspring

[Neva]

She moves when the sun has begun to wink over Tephra's horizon. The red eyed man had brought her here but he seemed distracted most days but she is grateful that Cross had invited her along. He always seemed to be peeking behind the shadows, staring off towards the horizon as though he lay in wait. Neva is not certain as to what but she does not bother her companion much anymore with her presence.

The sounds of birds greet her as they sing their waking song. The spotted woman can not help the soft smile touching the edges of her lips to finally feel safe after her return from the Reckoning. She had given up the idea of finding her family but Neva believes she will be okay within the protective stronghold of Tephra. A new beginning wasn't always so bad after all. Cross had found her and brought her here and by the looks of the dark ruller, Offspring, she was safe enough.

The frost upon her spine glints like star dust under the morning sun as she takes a moment to nibble at the foliage, testing and solidifying her first act of bondage with this strange land. A small content sigh passes between her lips as the warm touch of air stirs her pale mane, the birdsong lulling her sweetly as the land wakes from it's slumber.

NEVA

intrigued by first impressions
swayed by cold rejections

[Offspring]

You're looking at an absolute zero;
I'm not the devil but I won't be your hero.

  There was a stagnant thickness to the air that had been, at one time, stifling to him, but he had grown accustomed to it and instead, he felt enveloped by it. Embraced by it. Thus, the volcanic island had become his own. He had once thought it impossible to feel that he belonged anywhere else but the frigid tundra from whence he came prior to the rumbling, reformation of the Reckoning, but time had inevitably proven him wrong, and the tendrils of swaying vegetation caressing the length of his heavy, muscular legs and the growing plume of smoke rising from the crest of the volcano itself were soothing to his wild but weary soul.

  He could not stay still for long.

  He had spent much of nightfall along the western border, his gaze settled somewhere out onto the voracious, angrily churning sea - it is not often so untamed, but there is a cloaking of darkness in the distant sky along the fading horizon. A tempest is coming, brought forth by the wayward wind, caressing the length of his body and entangling itself within the matted tresses that lay haphazardly across the thickness of his neck. He had watched it move closer, mile by mile, its shadow descending upon the island and with it, a thin veil of warm rain.

  By morning, it is gone.

  When he finally turns away from the sea, there is a glint of light that catches his wandering eye. There is not much that piques his interest (two centuries of life steal the joy of the simplest things) but the glistening does so remind him of the snow and frost he had known intimately so long ago, and so his legs carry him across the grassland, while tendrils of drying grain caress the underside of his belly. When he is closer, he can see that the gleam beneath the pale sunlight of morning is across the soft, feminine surface of another – a vaguely familiar face, to which a name comes to mind.

  ”Good morning, Neva,” he utters, his voice a deep, rumbling baritone, rough from disuse – stirring the stillness of dawn.

OFFSPRING

another zealot with the weight of the fucking world.

[Neva]

She dreams she is alone, the stagnant air blanketing her cooled skin, droplets licking down her sides just as soon as the frost reforms across her spine. His voice, low and masculine, breaks the sounds of summer morning like a thunder clap in a green sky just before the tornado woke. She can tell he is the chaos, he is the unbridled fury. Neva doesn't look away as he approaches but instead greets the great man with the silhouette of her dark face over a single spotted shoulder.

Neva studies him in the early morning light. The golden tendrils play over the puckered scars, highlighting the badges from a time away from now. How many wars had he raged in Beqanna...or within himself? Neva turns the far corners of her dark lips upward with a slight curl and proceeds to greet the king properly with the pivot of her hips so she may give him her face...not her rear end. "Good Morning, Offspring." Her reply is low and almost flat as the early morning coats her throat in still morning dew. Neva knows that in a few hours she would seek the tall trees to shield her body from the heat so her skin would not remain damp with the melting frost.

But for now she would enjoy his company. The spotted woman was curious about those scars and the way they traced his skin like mountain ranges, growing and dipping here and there. He own is clean, spotted, but without mars. After all, her father had kept her from harm until the day of the Reckoning. "Out for a morning walk?" She is not sure what to say after a few moments of silence and growing afraid that he had perhaps caught her staring.

NEVA

intrigued by first impressions
swayed by cold rejections