04-10-2009, 12:04 AM
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500+
Cwmfen was at peace here, knowing that she could ignore the ever present reminder of time. Her sparring date with Ezekiel would not be for several hours, and she could be allowed to rest for this short while. The sun’s presence had been fleeting for the winter seasons, and the black fae was grateful for this day’s unexpected warmth. Knowing that it soon would be gone. The warrior was accustom to living for the moment, and she contemplated such a thing as she lived for this moment. The scars hummed quietly on her skin, as if still unwilling to let her go. As a warrior, she was keenly aware of life and of death, and she was aware that any moment may be her last. She had almost had her last moment a month ago, but that black, blue eyed male had been fated to save her. And yet, as a warrior, she would not have hated to die in such a way. In fact, she preferred it, for she did not wish to wait until her body was too old to move as she did now before Death came for her. But that battle had been without a reason, and such a defeat the warrior could not tolerate, especially had it resulted in death.
The wind and the rustling of the dry grass had obscured her senses, and the dozing warrior was caught off guard. Suddenly the scent was upon her, and for a moment the woman wondered whether it was a scent invoked by a memory or a scent invoked by true presence. But before she had opened her eyes, the voice, filled with that strange boredom, came to her ears with unfamiliar tones. During the battle, she had heard only his growls and snarls and silence, but the scent was enough for the woad marked fae to make the recognition. Her breathing changed from the soft whisper of sleep to the quiet murmur of wakefulness. The fae rose, lifting only her head from the grasses that sought to cradle it.
The white orbs met those red eyes, unafraid as she had been the day she had been attacked. But unlike that day, those eyes and that voice did not snarl at her, did not attack her. They were as indifferent as his words had been, and the woman was struck by that strangeness she had seen on but a few wolves. She was strangely calm, unmoved by his proximity. She had met him before, but she had not been permitted to perish. Now, with this dangerous proximity, there was nothing for her but to either die or live, and for now the male had chosen to be still. "Why have you approached?" the alto melody called quietly. She held both the strange resolve and the strange tranquility of a warrior, stronger now than it had been prior to his attack a moon ago. There was always something to be gained from defeat. The only things lost were pride and life.
500+
Cwmfen was at peace here, knowing that she could ignore the ever present reminder of time. Her sparring date with Ezekiel would not be for several hours, and she could be allowed to rest for this short while. The sun’s presence had been fleeting for the winter seasons, and the black fae was grateful for this day’s unexpected warmth. Knowing that it soon would be gone. The warrior was accustom to living for the moment, and she contemplated such a thing as she lived for this moment. The scars hummed quietly on her skin, as if still unwilling to let her go. As a warrior, she was keenly aware of life and of death, and she was aware that any moment may be her last. She had almost had her last moment a month ago, but that black, blue eyed male had been fated to save her. And yet, as a warrior, she would not have hated to die in such a way. In fact, she preferred it, for she did not wish to wait until her body was too old to move as she did now before Death came for her. But that battle had been without a reason, and such a defeat the warrior could not tolerate, especially had it resulted in death.
The wind and the rustling of the dry grass had obscured her senses, and the dozing warrior was caught off guard. Suddenly the scent was upon her, and for a moment the woman wondered whether it was a scent invoked by a memory or a scent invoked by true presence. But before she had opened her eyes, the voice, filled with that strange boredom, came to her ears with unfamiliar tones. During the battle, she had heard only his growls and snarls and silence, but the scent was enough for the woad marked fae to make the recognition. Her breathing changed from the soft whisper of sleep to the quiet murmur of wakefulness. The fae rose, lifting only her head from the grasses that sought to cradle it.
The white orbs met those red eyes, unafraid as she had been the day she had been attacked. But unlike that day, those eyes and that voice did not snarl at her, did not attack her. They were as indifferent as his words had been, and the woman was struck by that strangeness she had seen on but a few wolves. She was strangely calm, unmoved by his proximity. She had met him before, but she had not been permitted to perish. Now, with this dangerous proximity, there was nothing for her but to either die or live, and for now the male had chosen to be still. "Why have you approached?" the alto melody called quietly. She held both the strange resolve and the strange tranquility of a warrior, stronger now than it had been prior to his attack a moon ago. There was always something to be gained from defeat. The only things lost were pride and life.