08-30-2021, 11:47 PM
BUT I HOPE I NEVER LOSE THE BRUISES THAT YOU LEFT BEHIND
Despite her own ability, she’s had little experience with other shifters. Her nomadic tendencies drove her away from the general populace, narrowing her knowledge to panthers, and panthers alone. To limit it even further, it was only her immediate family—her father and her full siblings—that she is familiar with. Truthfully, she isn’t even sure if there are other panthers, though logic tells her there must be; it was no secret that her father’s lines had crept into nearly every part of Beqanna before he finally chose to settle with her mother. She is certain the ability turns up somewhere, but she has never met any of them.
Because of this, she does not really understand what is customary amongst shifters; if it is normal for predators to shift during conversation without the intent of attacking.
When he shifts into a polar bear she steps back, not in fear, but in preparation. There is a moment where her ears fall back, hidden by her mane, as she tries to calculate which would be better to fight with—antlers, or claws and fangs? Her blood warms beneath her bi-colored coat, a black cat growl rumbling lowly in her chest, begging to be let loose.
He shifts back just as quickly, and slowly she relaxes the defenses she had been so quick to raise, though she now eyes him somewhat suspiciously. Her muscles loosen beneath her splashed coat just slightly, the wind shifting a black forelock aside to reveal her vibrant, fuschia-colored eyes. “Mine,” she clarifies in answer to his question, the single word still holding some of the previous tension in the shape of it.
“I’m not entirely sure where the color came from, actually. My father’s eyes are yellow and my mother’s are brown.” Her shoulders roll in something akin to a careless shrug. “Abnormal eye color for a species is usually a pretty good indicator of magic of some kind. A panther with pink eyes should be a clue.” She has learned long ago that not everyone was quite as observant as she is. She supposes that is something that had been fine tuned in her solitude, when she was left with nothing to do but observe. “My name is Aislyn,” she offers him, before asking in that forward way of hers, “Who are you?”
Because of this, she does not really understand what is customary amongst shifters; if it is normal for predators to shift during conversation without the intent of attacking.
When he shifts into a polar bear she steps back, not in fear, but in preparation. There is a moment where her ears fall back, hidden by her mane, as she tries to calculate which would be better to fight with—antlers, or claws and fangs? Her blood warms beneath her bi-colored coat, a black cat growl rumbling lowly in her chest, begging to be let loose.
He shifts back just as quickly, and slowly she relaxes the defenses she had been so quick to raise, though she now eyes him somewhat suspiciously. Her muscles loosen beneath her splashed coat just slightly, the wind shifting a black forelock aside to reveal her vibrant, fuschia-colored eyes. “Mine,” she clarifies in answer to his question, the single word still holding some of the previous tension in the shape of it.
“I’m not entirely sure where the color came from, actually. My father’s eyes are yellow and my mother’s are brown.” Her shoulders roll in something akin to a careless shrug. “Abnormal eye color for a species is usually a pretty good indicator of magic of some kind. A panther with pink eyes should be a clue.” She has learned long ago that not everyone was quite as observant as she is. She supposes that is something that had been fine tuned in her solitude, when she was left with nothing to do but observe. “My name is Aislyn,” she offers him, before asking in that forward way of hers, “Who are you?”
A I S L Y N
@Ledger
