09-02-2017, 04:41 PM
“Pure chance, my sweet moonmare, pure magical chance.” He reaches out to touch her shoulder and chuff against it affectionately. His coat is beaded with streaks of sweat and salt from romping with his son among the sea-weed waves. The son too receives a triumphant nuzzle against his shoulder. Chemdog takes pause with his small family on the crest of a emerald knoll overlooking the lake and its surroundings. Sreva and the son are all that really remains of what was once a flourishing herd, but that was before and this is now; he cares not for what almost was. “I’m a Professor of Warfare here.” his tone loses a bit of its lightness, but not all together stone-serious. “Amet is their leader – our leader? I guess.” He takes in a deep calculative breath and levels his teal eyes with hers. “We’re safe from whatever is lurking around out there. You’re free to come and go, serve Hyaline or just us; it is up to you.” he chuckles, “I’m sure the young King could use some recruits, truly, but you know me…I only come back from the field with female things.” Another laugh rolls out of him and he splashes his tail against each speckled hip. “Winter is coming.” He clears his nostrils and looks out to the horizon that’s bloodied by a rosy sunrise. It is quiet in these pre-dawn hours, night things are tucking in and day things are just now starting to stir somberly in the dew. “And I’m damn glad for us to be here.” his thoughts settle with satisfaction on the thought of his son growing into adulthood here, training here, socializing here and having the freedom to choose between a rogue life or communal living. Kota. His daughter’s face flashes through his mind and his forced to grin crookedly to himself, peering to the shadows behind. Something tells him she’ll be along soon and he’s rather excited to laugh in her face about choosing the River some years back. ‘Shut up father, just come with me’ she said, ‘just trust me, it’s perfect’ she purred. HA! Garbage. Now everyone and their cousin is shitting all over the pretty moss and old oak roots. Bastards. He shakes his head and brings himself back into the moment, looking over to Sreva at his side. “Well I’m definitely going for a dip – I smell like week old kelp in a dead whale’s asshole.” He pokes Xzavier playfully and rolls into a thunderous canter toward the crystalline lake below the hillside. He calls out, loud, shrill and carving through the chilly morning air. Soon a dip will not be so pleasant so it’s best to go into a cold season not smelling of decay, he supposes. c h e m d o g in absentia luci, tenebrae vincunt |
@[Sreva] !! i love them so much it melts my fricking heart when i write him to her & x
