ROMEK
”That’s a bit fucking grim, isn’t it?”
Romek appears from the darkness with an unreadable expression across his dark face, taking in the scene before him. A stallion (who, for some reason, looks quite familiar) with his head in the chest of some poor horned animal, slurping up shit-filled intestines and god knows what else.
The tiger purrs within him.
He is no stranger to blood and guts and gore, but he does wonder how this equine can stomach the meat. He has made kills of his own, naturally, but upon shifting back, had ended up with the most awful stomach ache of his life as his insides struggled to digest the massive amounts of meat consumed. His grass-eating body had just not been prepared for it all.
And, of course, there is the not-so-small matter of this happening on Tundra lands. Romek’s golden eyes (so reminiscent of his sire, Nocturnal – but then, he could very well be a clone in most aspects) evaluate him, and his bloody glory, passively. The elk-eater does look familiar, but Romek can’t quite place it. Years and years must’ve slipped between their once-meeting, and now, sand fills the gaps, the North freezes it solid and—
”Lokii,” he says, putting the name to the face finally.
But then, you wouldn’t forget one of your mother’s murderers, would you?
Romek appears from the darkness with an unreadable expression across his dark face, taking in the scene before him. A stallion (who, for some reason, looks quite familiar) with his head in the chest of some poor horned animal, slurping up shit-filled intestines and god knows what else.
The tiger purrs within him.
He is no stranger to blood and guts and gore, but he does wonder how this equine can stomach the meat. He has made kills of his own, naturally, but upon shifting back, had ended up with the most awful stomach ache of his life as his insides struggled to digest the massive amounts of meat consumed. His grass-eating body had just not been prepared for it all.
And, of course, there is the not-so-small matter of this happening on Tundra lands. Romek’s golden eyes (so reminiscent of his sire, Nocturnal – but then, he could very well be a clone in most aspects) evaluate him, and his bloody glory, passively. The elk-eater does look familiar, but Romek can’t quite place it. Years and years must’ve slipped between their once-meeting, and now, sand fills the gaps, the North freezes it solid and—
”Lokii,” he says, putting the name to the face finally.
But then, you wouldn’t forget one of your mother’s murderers, would you?
fuck all your dreams, they’re not all they seem