10-16-2009, 11:30 PM
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They had become symbiotic. Without her, Larkspur could no doubt survive—but he was uneducated outside of the realm of Khalif and would likely be unable to assimilate. Misery was his guiding light; his dancing star. Each time he looked into her fever-bright eyes it was love. One day he would make her proud, and he would do her right. It he had to call down the Hand of God he would. He wore the marks. He made an oath.
Both ears rose to a crown atop his head, two black peaks breaking the orange mass of his hair. Larkspur’s eyes focused on the back of her head. “If you wanna,” he answered simply. There was a distinct twang in his voice; it was thick, and almost slow. There was little eloquence in his speaking, and he found this enjoyable. He had no formal education; Lark was, by all means, nothing more then a smart dog. A loyal, extremely dangerous dog.
Both ears rose to a crown atop his head, two black peaks breaking the orange mass of his hair. Larkspur’s eyes focused on the back of her head. “If you wanna,” he answered simply. There was a distinct twang in his voice; it was thick, and almost slow. There was little eloquence in his speaking, and he found this enjoyable. He had no formal education; Lark was, by all means, nothing more then a smart dog. A loyal, extremely dangerous dog.
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