10-20-2018, 11:59 PM
She is shadow and moonlight. Haunted eyes and a wild heart. Predator trapped in the body of it's prey. Once she fought demons now she was one, after all, she had the scars to prove it. All to well she knows the rush of adrenaline, the wild craze that filled her to bursting with the need to fight, to hunt, to run. But there were some enemies that could not be fought, could not be out ran. There were ghosts and shadows, demons that followed everyone in Beqanna. Nobody walked away scotch free.
When he ran past her she had no choice but to follow. He was a burst of sunlight in the dark and misty places that she felt chained to. She lurked among the trees because there was no longer a place for her and her demon. It was hard to admit that she needed this stranger when she was so, so, alone.
Their breath mingles with the mist, bodies steaming after the wild dash amongst the trees and he asks her Why?
At first she isn't sure if it's meant for her or for the pain she sees unhidden in his eyes, and it takes her several gulps of the cool night air to respond. She matches his gaze, scorching heat met with blue ice.
"I don't know."
She doesn't, not really. She doesn't know how to tell him that she can't control herself sometimes when the wolf wants to play, or about the demons that drive her to the isolation of the woods. She can't tell this man that he was the answer to a question she wasn't aware of until they ran abreast in a frenzied, half crazed flight through the trees. So instead she says,
"I'm Tyrna, and I'm sorry."
When he ran past her she had no choice but to follow. He was a burst of sunlight in the dark and misty places that she felt chained to. She lurked among the trees because there was no longer a place for her and her demon. It was hard to admit that she needed this stranger when she was so, so, alone.
Their breath mingles with the mist, bodies steaming after the wild dash amongst the trees and he asks her Why?
At first she isn't sure if it's meant for her or for the pain she sees unhidden in his eyes, and it takes her several gulps of the cool night air to respond. She matches his gaze, scorching heat met with blue ice.
"I don't know."
She doesn't, not really. She doesn't know how to tell him that she can't control herself sometimes when the wolf wants to play, or about the demons that drive her to the isolation of the woods. She can't tell this man that he was the answer to a question she wasn't aware of until they ran abreast in a frenzied, half crazed flight through the trees. So instead she says,
"I'm Tyrna, and I'm sorry."