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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


    a ghost in the dark || aire
    #1

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

    She cannot be contained and this fact is something the wolf-girl knows that her brother, Wolfbane, is rather aware of. Sometimes the wolf (though a separate part of her; a piece that is wholly herself yet works in partnership) and the instincts that come with it are much too strong for the equine part of her and she will find herself in the form of a dusty rose wolf more often than not. She is not lost within the shape, not at all; only giving in to the impeccable senses that come with the canine, satisfying both tooth and claw by taking to the cold mist of the forests and shying away from the lowlands that is Loess. The frigid autumnal air seems to have called to her; wrapping around the thick scruff of the rose-gray of her neck, pants of breath leaving blackened lips in puffs of warm air around her shining black nostrils.

    Padded feet carry the large yet slender wolf through damp undergrowth and bitterly still pine trees. The sun is golden as it filters through the dark canopy, shedding light on the mist that lingers on the forest floor; not yet burned away by the sun. Dirt and debris cling to the underside of her belly and darken the once-ivory of her powerful legs - a disheveled appearance for such a majestic creature, though her fluidity and poise throughout the winding forest made up for that fact.

    Blood has dried to a dark rust on the bottom of her chin and around her snout, nearly as brown as the dark coffee of her inquisitive and intelligent irises that scour the landscape with each bound over fallen tree, smooth boulder, or large root. A sound - one that is minute and insignificant - catches the sensitivity of her ears and the wolf slows her quiet lope to a trot, lifting her head quizzically to sample the stillness of the air around her. Her nose twitches, the midday sun pooling across her back and haunches, painting the cream canine a near pale gold. Finally she halts, her brow furrowing slightly as the scent remains unfamiliar yet harmless. She huffs, the sound muffled in her closed lips but strong enough to break through her teeth and travel through the quiet, still forest to whatever may lay within the shadows.

    Dayé

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



    @[jenger] <3
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