05-03-2009, 08:48 PM
[html]
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v515/ ... banner.jpg); background-position: bottom center; background-repeat: no-repeat;">
^=^ <2
500+
His eyes? The woad bound ears pricked forward at that statement, her head tilting indiscernibly as she considered them. And the white orbs followed the movement of his hand as it went to that cloth that bound them. There was anticipation within the she wolf as she watched—what manner of eyes were beneath that would move a mother to kill her own pup? As the cloth fell away, there was nothing—his eyes were closed. And then they opened. She rose, taking two steps back in a sudden motion. Her breath caught in her throat and her heart skipped a beat. Whatever it was that she anticipated, she would not have guessed that those eyes of darkness lay behind that mask. The ears swiveled back, flattening against her head as fear washed over her heart. Before her she saw not the coyote she knew, not Onus, but Corvus. In a single instant, all those memories of her pain and suffering, of her solitude, passed before her eyes, filling the shape of the being she saw before her. It was like a nightmare that had come forth into reality to swallow and to destroy her. But there were no more tears left within her for this as her heart quavered.
She exhaled, for a moment her breathing shallow, and as she inhaled it was taken in sharply, the air forced into her and yet she was unable to gather enough. The images seem to fade into the silence, melting away into the dark. The image of the crow wolf likewise dispersed to leave behind what was real. For a moment, the woman faltered as she stood there watching him, the fear flickering in her eyes. But as she stood there looking, allowing herself to rise above that fear and delve deeply into that gaze, she saw that those eyes were not like her father’s at all. They were black and filled with a darkness, but that darkness was of a different nature. The black fae felt as if she could see in this darkness, that it wasn’t blinding or consuming. She thought that she saw something there, something greater, something she could reach out and grasp. And she knew that this man was no different than he had been before, that there was nothing for her to fear. What had filled her initially was discarded behind her like the old skin of a snake.
His hand reached out to her, and she went to him, seeing the uncertainty within those eyes. And there was shame within her; she was ashamed that she had allowed herself to fear. But it had not been he that she had feared; it had been her father. Tentatively, her hand reached out to grasp him as she returned to the bed. For once the woman was uncertain, and as she held that black gaze she felt something stir within her, something that almost made her giddy. It grasped at her and she tensed up against it. And the woad warrior held herself away so that only their hands touched. Whether he was accepting her or not she could not tell, and that made her hesitate. "I’m not...pure," the alto melody whispered in the quiet night. There was no shame in that statement, but she felt that she had to say it. The man before her was a creature of goodness, one that did not fear to use whatever means necessary to purge the world of corruption. But she did not believe that she herself was free of such a thing, and she did not want him to go further than he should.
^=^ <2
500+
His eyes? The woad bound ears pricked forward at that statement, her head tilting indiscernibly as she considered them. And the white orbs followed the movement of his hand as it went to that cloth that bound them. There was anticipation within the she wolf as she watched—what manner of eyes were beneath that would move a mother to kill her own pup? As the cloth fell away, there was nothing—his eyes were closed. And then they opened. She rose, taking two steps back in a sudden motion. Her breath caught in her throat and her heart skipped a beat. Whatever it was that she anticipated, she would not have guessed that those eyes of darkness lay behind that mask. The ears swiveled back, flattening against her head as fear washed over her heart. Before her she saw not the coyote she knew, not Onus, but Corvus. In a single instant, all those memories of her pain and suffering, of her solitude, passed before her eyes, filling the shape of the being she saw before her. It was like a nightmare that had come forth into reality to swallow and to destroy her. But there were no more tears left within her for this as her heart quavered.
She exhaled, for a moment her breathing shallow, and as she inhaled it was taken in sharply, the air forced into her and yet she was unable to gather enough. The images seem to fade into the silence, melting away into the dark. The image of the crow wolf likewise dispersed to leave behind what was real. For a moment, the woman faltered as she stood there watching him, the fear flickering in her eyes. But as she stood there looking, allowing herself to rise above that fear and delve deeply into that gaze, she saw that those eyes were not like her father’s at all. They were black and filled with a darkness, but that darkness was of a different nature. The black fae felt as if she could see in this darkness, that it wasn’t blinding or consuming. She thought that she saw something there, something greater, something she could reach out and grasp. And she knew that this man was no different than he had been before, that there was nothing for her to fear. What had filled her initially was discarded behind her like the old skin of a snake.
His hand reached out to her, and she went to him, seeing the uncertainty within those eyes. And there was shame within her; she was ashamed that she had allowed herself to fear. But it had not been he that she had feared; it had been her father. Tentatively, her hand reached out to grasp him as she returned to the bed. For once the woman was uncertain, and as she held that black gaze she felt something stir within her, something that almost made her giddy. It grasped at her and she tensed up against it. And the woad warrior held herself away so that only their hands touched. Whether he was accepting her or not she could not tell, and that made her hesitate. "I’m not...pure," the alto melody whispered in the quiet night. There was no shame in that statement, but she felt that she had to say it. The man before her was a creature of goodness, one that did not fear to use whatever means necessary to purge the world of corruption. But she did not believe that she herself was free of such a thing, and she did not want him to go further than he should.