what we do is secret

Sirius Revlis · 04-25-2012, 02:06 PM

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Sorry for being a slowtortoise! Tis assessment block at uni :B <3 >> Word Count: 3+

Sirius by Nat

It had been two days since the funeral of Larkspur D'Angelo - Two days since the fight, and the subsequent alliance, with the Aquila of Inferni. The dark man had mulled over the events that had transpired, evaluating each of Ezekiel's later words, running their decision continually through his mind as though the thought was constructed of looped clockwork, irresolvable and continual. It frustrated him to be sore and wounded again. The fight had been quick, but although brutal, it had resulted in little more than a few more aching muscles and permanent scars.

He rubbed at one such wound now, unable to fulfill a subconscious desire to itch at the slow-mending damaged flesh. Both of the male's arms were bandaged in a motley mixture of faded cream rags, some already stained by the cuts belows. The day had been too warm to don his thick bear-hide cloak; Sirius was a Northern King now, and his blood had thickened enough to feel little but winter's chilly bite. But with the falling of night, he had fastened the luxurious garment with a gold brooch at his throat, hoping that the thick drapes of the cloak would hide his bandaged arms from any would-be inquirers.

To ease the furious workings of his mind, Sirius paced the borders, intent on working the soreness from his muscles through physical use. The baleful eye of the moon lit his path, filling the air with a strange, brittle clarity. Shadows clung to the man's tall, dark shape, seeking shelter in the rustle of his sweeping cloak, clinging in pockets beneath two luminous acid-green eyes. Sirius' pupils engorged themselves on the gentle light, leaving little but a rim of this toxic pea-green color to be seen.

The borders were still, and quiet, as they had been since the most recent battle. The infiltrations were always so sudden, so utterly vicious in their attack that the entire pack now hung in a continual state of paranoia. It was simply a matter of time - Simply a wait until the next strike. The thought disgusted him, and so although weakened by his wounds, the King ventured beyond his own borders, seeking secrets and knowledge in the quiet of the night.

A rogue scent caught his attention, carried to his wet nose on a mild breeze. Black lips peeled back in a snarl, and fingering a dagger beneath the dark sweep of his cloak, the monarch foolhardily changed his course to track this stranger. The skilled hunter and tracker's normally silent steps were irritably loud within the man's own ears - His injuries made him favor one leg slightly, and that alone was enough to throw off his balance. Perhaps I will meet my death tonight, came the unexpected thought; There was no way, in his current state, that he would be able to fend off more than one of the invaders. But there was no turning back - The stranger would probably have noted his approach by now. The female's scent grew stronger, and he drew it deep into his lunger, exhaling on a long, low growl. "Who walks these woods? Show yourself!" There was no sound or smell of any horses in the area, and the attackers had all been mounted... Regardless, the King's knuckles tightened around the hilt of his wicked dagger, and his rough command breached the silence of the gnarled, sentinel pines.

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