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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


    from the midnight sun - wolfbane, any
    #2

    when i run through the deep dark forest long after this has begun,

    The wolf prowls through the darkness, the light chill in the air unable to seep into the delicate swathe of her skin between the many folds of storm-grey fur. Pieces of her are caked in what once was wet mud - it has long since dried and even hardened as the night fell over Loess, freezing droplets of dew onto the tips of her whiskers or the darker grey of her legs. The night has awakened her, allowing the once blue-golden young mare to fluidly shift into the wolf she had come to know as well as her first skin, primal urges allowing her to trek through the rocky landscape, slinking between large moss-covered boulders and frost-laden shrubbery. Her paws are soundless against the crisp undergrowth and though the smell of lavender and clear, mountain air has replaced the tinge of sulfur that once soured her nostrils, she doesn't mind the change.

    Wistful and hungry, the teenage predator swiftly finds herself trotting through Loess. She is still learning the twists and turns of the rock outcroppings and the abundance of streams, though tonight it is not exploration that is her purpose. Without an alpha running point (her half-brother Wolfbane is the alpha to her in many other ways, though not in her wolf-skin), Dayé had quickly learned solitary hunting from her mother the lioness, though the younger female is still learning when it came to the agility and skill that accompanies a successful hunt.

    A hare catches the wolf’s attention, her coffee brown eyes flickering as she locks her gaze on the quickly moving prey. She lowers herself into the shadow of rock and tree, trying to smooth herself into the darkness and to become unseen. Dayé tracks the hare as far as she can, trying to get within range to where a few precise leaps would allow her to pounce onto the dark brown rabbit. She is young and unpracticed (but also very lucky) when her leap from the darkness is a surprise to the hare, the force of her jaws quickly wrapping around its neck before its cries echo into the night, where other hunters might be attracted to its wails. Its screams are silenced with a single snap of its neck, the only sound besides the soft chorus of crickets and nightwind being the sound of flesh tearing from tendons and grinding bones against shining teeth.

    Finished, the wolf stands. Blood frames her slender snout and face, nearly up to the dark brown eyes that peer through the blackness of night curiously. With a lick of her lips, the wolf trots forward in search of water, content to leave the broken down corpse for a vulture or some other night creature. Dayé flickers through the brush and bramble, shifting easily as she points herself into the direction of the spring she knew was close by. The young mare shines an iridescent blue across her golden body, pale tresses falling into the same wild and primal nutmeg eyes that had once been that of a predator.

    Exposing herself to a being she did not know was currently beneath the surface, the mare snorts softly as she sees the steam coming from the pool. She comes to its edge, the blood from her meal now drying on her pale lips as she lowers her head, sniffing at the warm water. She chides herself for not remembering which spring is which and is not keen on sipping on the warm water that is black and still before her reflection.

    Something then emerges from the placidity of the pool, startling the girl with a sharp whinny. Her ears fall into her mane as she shuffles backwards, lowering her head and baring her teeth with a champing mouth, a single foreleg digging into the pebbles that riddle the wet bank beneath her hooves. Realizing that it is only a stallion (one that smells unfamiliar, though with the water saturating his scent, it is hard to tell), she squarely freezes before him with a still lowered head, dark brown eyes staring wildly at him from beneath a furrowed brow, the instinct of her wolf trilling inside her as it begs to protect her from whatever danger this stranger might harbor for her.

    Dayé

    where the sun would set, trees are dead, and the rivers were none.



    @[Chemdog]
    i couldn't resist :|


    Messages In This Thread
    RE: from the midnight sun - wolfbane, any - by Dayé - 06-28-2018, 01:57 PM



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