10-03-2021, 09:45 PM
Shifters get a choice, his mother had emphasized.
But the rest of them don’t.
So tonight, he is looking for something that cannot change, for a creature with a single shape. A shape that he wants to wear, he reminds himself, looking away from the grisly spectre that stands at the edge of the woods. Malik has no desire to look like he is decomposing.
He’s already twice attempted to capture a shadow creature, but they both proved far more elusive than Maurtia’s wolflike companion in the Playground. There are signs of his struggles - leaves tangled in his black mane, ruffled iridescent feathers, a smear of dirt along his striped rump.
A sound draws his attention, and Malik raises his dark head to peer in the direction it had come from. His eyes - one blue, one orange - search the shadows, and a nose that is more canine than equine inhales the scents of early summer evening. Accustomed to nearly year round snow, the air feels uncomfortably warm, and the young black stallion can feel a trickle of sweat down the side of his face.
He brushes it away when he is unable to find the source of the noise. Perhaps it had been a bird settling in for the night, or a branch shaken loose by the same breeze that slips along his sides and lifts the tangle of his mane. It is no cooler than the humid air and provides little relief from the heat.
But it does bring a familiar smell, one that has Malik releasing his equine shape to become something better equipped for quick movement in the dark.
“@bolder!” he calls, his chittering, bat-like voice echoing back with no indication of where his friend might be hiding. “What’re you doing here?”
But the rest of them don’t.
So tonight, he is looking for something that cannot change, for a creature with a single shape. A shape that he wants to wear, he reminds himself, looking away from the grisly spectre that stands at the edge of the woods. Malik has no desire to look like he is decomposing.
He’s already twice attempted to capture a shadow creature, but they both proved far more elusive than Maurtia’s wolflike companion in the Playground. There are signs of his struggles - leaves tangled in his black mane, ruffled iridescent feathers, a smear of dirt along his striped rump.
A sound draws his attention, and Malik raises his dark head to peer in the direction it had come from. His eyes - one blue, one orange - search the shadows, and a nose that is more canine than equine inhales the scents of early summer evening. Accustomed to nearly year round snow, the air feels uncomfortably warm, and the young black stallion can feel a trickle of sweat down the side of his face.
He brushes it away when he is unable to find the source of the noise. Perhaps it had been a bird settling in for the night, or a branch shaken loose by the same breeze that slips along his sides and lifts the tangle of his mane. It is no cooler than the humid air and provides little relief from the heat.
But it does bring a familiar smell, one that has Malik releasing his equine shape to become something better equipped for quick movement in the dark.
“@bolder!” he calls, his chittering, bat-like voice echoing back with no indication of where his friend might be hiding. “What’re you doing here?”