bitterness is thick like blood and cold as a wind sea breeze
if you must drink of me, take of me what you please
Finally, he thinks.
Finally something worth sinking his teeth into.
His green eyes sharpen with interest as he watches her, his magic trailing her and picking up the patterns of her movement, watching as she loops in and out, the trace notes of prey in her step. When she finally finds him, she pauses, freezing as if his teeth were bared and against her throat—and so he decides that perhaps they should be. Without pretense, the behemoth of a stallion shifts, shedding the mulberry coat of the stallion and taking the shape of his namesake, keeping the same unique coloring.
As a wolf, he is massive, his green eyes glittering as he watches her. She is interesting, in a way that few things are, and he cannot help but pick up on the threads of an unused magic within her—something that is not familiar to him but not entirely alien either. It’s enough to keep and hold his attention, enough for him to pause now, sitting with the faintest brush of snow beginning to fall on his thick fur.
Part of him wants to engage her in conversation, another part wants to simply dip his fingers into her mind and flip through the thoughts—taking the knowledge without asking. Still another part, a rare violent streak that has blossomed in his boredom, wants to know how she looks how she will react if he were to simply charge. He was close enough that he could make up the distance between them quickly.
Would she roll over in obedience?
Would she fight?
The questions hang in the air above him, his gaze calculating and finally—finally—interested.
There is a moment where his teeth show in a wolfish smile, lips spreading far and wide, but it is quick. Without saying a word, he pushes forward off his haunches toward her. It is a fast motion, but slow enough to give her time to react as he opens his mouth wide once more, teeth gleaming.
woolf
I am loathed to say it's the devil's taste
