01-11-2017, 08:51 AM
Ruan
He was a speck of darkness in the endless blanket of white. His pale body disappeared in it and he became a disembodied black head, hair, and legs. And scars. The wind battered against him, but he was steady. Steady. He didn't tremble or quake with the chill. He didn't even feel it. This was his element.
Winter wolf.
The rain of flurries diverted around him as he walked, as if he were untouchable. To them, he was. They were the children of his tears, the manifestation of his fears. But he was steady.
His blue eyes were bright, piercing and lit with the power of his magic, nearly glowing in the night. They weren't what found her first. Winter wind called to him, come away, wolf, she is here. Whoever she was. And he listened, of course he did. The snow, the ice, the cold; they were all friends to him. So he followed until her hello drifted passed on erratic flurries, until he could smell her, until his hard stare found her. Met hers as though her own blue had called him.
And froze.
Always, his wolf had been separate from him; came at night when he took paws and patrolled their forest. Gone again by morning. But now. His pulse quickened and he was immediately on edge. Gusts of steaming breath snorted silently from flared nostrils. He stood taller, looked bigger, throwing a hoof in agitation. His lip peeled over his teeth in warning, as though they were his fangs, then resettled. He felt the whine of the wolf build in his throat and swallowed it. And then he stilled, and studied her. Why did she call to him, why had he been brought here.
Then he was walking again, stalking toward her, stopping before her. His blood still screamed threat but she looked cold. And somehow that mattered. His magic came to life around them, and in a blink the snow and wind stopped, hammering against an unseen dome around them. The silence was suddenly so loud, and he could hear each of their breaths. And the thunder of his pulse in his ears. Yet still he said nothing. Because he was Alpha, a bit too wild, and he didn't have to.
His glacial eyes said it for him:
Who the hell are you and what have you done to me.
Winter wolf.
The rain of flurries diverted around him as he walked, as if he were untouchable. To them, he was. They were the children of his tears, the manifestation of his fears. But he was steady.
His blue eyes were bright, piercing and lit with the power of his magic, nearly glowing in the night. They weren't what found her first. Winter wind called to him, come away, wolf, she is here. Whoever she was. And he listened, of course he did. The snow, the ice, the cold; they were all friends to him. So he followed until her hello drifted passed on erratic flurries, until he could smell her, until his hard stare found her. Met hers as though her own blue had called him.
And froze.
Always, his wolf had been separate from him; came at night when he took paws and patrolled their forest. Gone again by morning. But now. His pulse quickened and he was immediately on edge. Gusts of steaming breath snorted silently from flared nostrils. He stood taller, looked bigger, throwing a hoof in agitation. His lip peeled over his teeth in warning, as though they were his fangs, then resettled. He felt the whine of the wolf build in his throat and swallowed it. And then he stilled, and studied her. Why did she call to him, why had he been brought here.
Then he was walking again, stalking toward her, stopping before her. His blood still screamed threat but she looked cold. And somehow that mattered. His magic came to life around them, and in a blink the snow and wind stopped, hammering against an unseen dome around them. The silence was suddenly so loud, and he could hear each of their breaths. And the thunder of his pulse in his ears. Yet still he said nothing. Because he was Alpha, a bit too wild, and he didn't have to.
His glacial eyes said it for him:
Who the hell are you and what have you done to me.
