Rey
It’s always my fault. He shouldn’t blame the wolf for her nature, or make excuses for the animal. I’m the one in the wrong place, clearly, and the one intruding. It’s always my fault.
Nonetheless my head rises auspiciously in defiance, the backwards twist of two pale ears now turning dark red a quiet indication of my thoughts about his pet and the overeager manner in which it seems to want to defy the stallion. They could be any number of things - familiar and creator, magician, an equine with the ability to wear two skins. So long as they keep to themselves over there and I’m left to my own wellbeing over here, there’s no need to curl back my lips and show my fangs.
My skin is betraying an internally dark mood anyways, having shed its earlier perlino sheen to completely cloak me in a stain of bloody carmine. Only the tattoos and my eyes stay the same, a bold splash of color that stands out among the red. “I’ve known more than a few myself.” My response comes, once he’s shooed the creature away. “Plenty of them.” I don’t say.
“Yours is unique, though.” The comment slips out, raspy and weak. Since returning to Beqanna from the horrors of Pangea, I’ve yet to shake a persistent cough and the continual damage is beginning to erode my once feminine, soft voice. “Not the image I’d first think of if someone told me to imagine a wolf.” I admit, softening my hardened expression into one that seems less suspicious and more exhausted as I slip away from the holly at my back and closer towards him.
I notice his mane isn’t just a flat green, like I’d originally supposed from afar. It’s literal vines, or whip-like strands of growth, covered entirely by budding leaflets that layer atop one another to give him an earthy mane and tail. How unusual. “It seemed rather irritated too.” I muse, slowing to halt nearby, “Lover’s quarrel?”
Wanna step to me better think twice, 'cause I look pretty but I ain't that nice
@[Daemron]