Our skin gets thicker, living out in the snow
CREVAN
To avoid dreaming altogether, Crevan opts simply not to sleep these days. On nights like this, when only mindless walking can seem to silence the memories, he travels far no matter how much his body protests. If he managed to fall asleep it would only leave him deadbeat in the morning. His fantasies refused to be kind.
The shifter is currently a wolf: padding along on oversized paws, every roll of his shoulders and swing of his hips predatory and loose. There’s no thought of hunting, or looking for prey to hunt either. His grand head is stationed eyes-forward with the rest of his youthful body following suit. No indication of hurrying, no exact plan in mind. One tawny ear (dark gray, now that the sun has set) flicks fore and then aft of his skull, picking up on subtle vermin and other nightly cacophony while his nose quivers.
The Riverlands, heavy with the smell of freshwater and spring vegetation, suddenly give up their ghost.
Instinctively the warg grows stock-still, legs and belly clenched tight when he first hears, then sees the black mare streak past. Her odor is sweat and fear, a rancid trail that she leaves behind but, to his surprise, he sees nothing giving her pursuit. Once, quickly, his head snaps to the area where she’d appeared from and then he’s off himself - a pale blur of motion that aims to overtake whatever creature she might be.
This is what brought him to life. Every stride is raw with power and his focus: unbreakable. There’s no doubt in his mind that he’ll catch up to her … that is, until he notices she’s slowing down. A bit irate with the change in pace, Crevan adjusts to a rolling lope. He fully intends on getting some answers out of the stranger (she’s at the water’s edge, now,) and he wants to catch her before she can either disappear or cross the ford.
His mouth pops open, a cheeky bit just begging to be thrown her way, and then he watches in surprise as she falls.
@[Briseis] @[Leilan]