07-29-2017, 08:23 PM
Don't be afraid when the night wolves cry,
feast on their bones, suck the marrow dry.
feast on their bones, suck the marrow dry.
He watches her. How could you not? Every step she takes into the Field draws eyes while simultaneously pushing bodies away. She’s fire and blood, cloaked by a crimson god that seemed to have a penchant for beauty and gifted with an element that turns such a beauty into a deadly beast. Longclaw can’t tear his green eyes away from those tongues of flame as they lick her flesh and leave no trail behind but for the scorched earth at her heels. He’s … got a thing for fire.
So it comes as no surprise when he finds that his legs are suddenly rolling easily beneath him, sending him languidly in her direction as she dips around a corner and all but disappears from sight. He weaves easily enough among the grouped throng, never deterred by outside interference, only glancing down every now and then to catch sight of the charred grass that will lead him to his quarry. Tracking her is not so difficult.
Approaching her, however, may be. She’s immersed herself by the time he stops near the lip of the pond, her copper frame accentuated by the soft halo of midday sunlight. That telltale trim of hers is sizzling beneath the water, undeterred by its elemental enemy so much so that her hind is surrounded with rising bubbles of heat. Any longer in there and Longclaw speculates she might boil herself a fish dinner. “And I thought that I was stifling in this heat.” He says at last, when his presence has been too long in hers for silence to remain appropriate.
A smile rouses lazily over his blue lips, touching the corners of his eyes with mirth as he waits for her to turn about. When she does, it’ll be to gaze at an equally interesting creature. As red as she is, Longclaw is blue - it cloaks him nose to tail and flashes first to gold and then, quickly, to green with every shift of his youthful body. At two, he’s still young; there’s potential though, an irritating attractiveness to every line and curve of his shape. If you dissected him there would be faults, and plenty, but together as a whole they somehow seem to make him impossible to fault.
And he knows this. “Would you mind some company? Or, if not that, would you mind if I knew your name?”
So it comes as no surprise when he finds that his legs are suddenly rolling easily beneath him, sending him languidly in her direction as she dips around a corner and all but disappears from sight. He weaves easily enough among the grouped throng, never deterred by outside interference, only glancing down every now and then to catch sight of the charred grass that will lead him to his quarry. Tracking her is not so difficult.
Approaching her, however, may be. She’s immersed herself by the time he stops near the lip of the pond, her copper frame accentuated by the soft halo of midday sunlight. That telltale trim of hers is sizzling beneath the water, undeterred by its elemental enemy so much so that her hind is surrounded with rising bubbles of heat. Any longer in there and Longclaw speculates she might boil herself a fish dinner. “And I thought that I was stifling in this heat.” He says at last, when his presence has been too long in hers for silence to remain appropriate.
A smile rouses lazily over his blue lips, touching the corners of his eyes with mirth as he waits for her to turn about. When she does, it’ll be to gaze at an equally interesting creature. As red as she is, Longclaw is blue - it cloaks him nose to tail and flashes first to gold and then, quickly, to green with every shift of his youthful body. At two, he’s still young; there’s potential though, an irritating attractiveness to every line and curve of his shape. If you dissected him there would be faults, and plenty, but together as a whole they somehow seem to make him impossible to fault.
And he knows this. “Would you mind some company? Or, if not that, would you mind if I knew your name?”
Longclaw
![[Image: sScEgld.png]](http://i.imgur.com/sScEgld.png)