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    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


    I love the way that your heart breaks... {G'ren, any}
    #4
    Just an FYI, I deleted my previous ooc posts just to clean it up a bit.

    I love the way that your heart breaks
    with every injustice and deadly fate.

    It is true he had been tortured in the most terrible and gruesome of ways. But he wears that torment upon his skin like a hideous trophy, something to be proud of. For he is. Proud of it, that is. He had been taken, bent and corrupted by the greatest of gods. He wears his mark as a badge of honor upon the very center of his charred forehead. His cracked lips will always pull into a macabre smile at the memory of that time. It is a time any other might remember with horror, but one he recalls only with fondness.

    And, in turn, he passes that gift along. He is always open and free in regards to his intentions. None could ever say they have been deceived by him. He is not clever enough to deceive. No, all who had entered into his care has done so willingly. Or, at the very least, knowingly.

    She not the least of them.

    She comes of course. He had known she would. His bland gray eyes fix upon her the moment she comes within sight, his rounded ears pricking forward as his nostrils flare to draw in her familiar scent. A scent now tinged with ice and snow and strange male. Even as she greets him, expressing her surprise, stating her purpose, her intentions, he remains silent. There is nothing he need say to that. She would go with him. She always has.

    Stepping forward, he circles her, ignoring the other male as he approaches. Brynmor moves in next to her, expressing his – and the Tundra’s – solidarity. Raelynx moves next to her then, opposite the stranger. His muzzle caresses her hip, her back and withers, a delicate touch tinged by flame. The scars (the ones he had given her) give him grim satisfaction, reminding him, and her, of who he is to her.

    He presses close as he lifts his head, turning his fire-rimmed gray gaze to meet that of the other stallion. ”I have what I came for,” he rumbles, speaking to him over G’ren’s back even as he runs his fiery muzzle along her neck, wondering if she has learned to flinch yet. His possession is unmistakable, the claim he has made upon this mare undeniable. Her scars bear proof of that all too well.

    Raelynx

    khaos x eyrie

    html c insane | picture c naelii.deviantart.com


    Messages In This Thread
    RE: I love the way that your heart breaks... {G'ren, any} - by Raelynx - 06-04-2016, 02:38 PM
    RE: I love the way that your heart breaks... {G'ren, any} - by Offspring - 06-23-2016, 01:24 PM



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