07-16-2008, 11:22 PM
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It had been long enough that the pain in his side had stopped. He had since returned to his aimless quest, traveling along the mountain’s side. Only once did he have to change his course, and ascend around the territory of the coyotes (one of them, a large hybrid, had watched his course the whole way and made him feel uneasy) and down towards the coast. Draco paused now and again to inspect a piece of interesting beach glass, and then toss it down the sand. Even this small action was something that helped him relax, and as he had been a child carrying much anger, it was appropriate and necessary for these small things. If he did not find release, he would combust as his father had once did.
That thought alone, that brief image, it made his blood boil. With a low growl, he hurled a large stone down the shore. It bounced off the sand and was sucked into the surf. His blue eyes had become chips of ice, remarkable if only for the fire raging inside of them. There was a nuclear core in his body, and it had been building, growing more and more unstable as he grew up. Still, the ocean was calming, reminding him to find peace, and he inhaled. The shadow of the falcon above him and a warning cry made the boy turn his attention elsewhere. What he found was truly peculiar, given the rural society he had come to expect.
The stranger was masked and wearing a cloak, and as Draco approached he found that he did in fact smell like mint. While Draco himself was in hiding, he was not going to this extent. Whatever this man had done, it had been something terrible—or, perhaps, it was a childish game. Draco smiled thinly, reminding himself that he too was playing a game. He called out: “Have you ever danced with the devil in the pale moonlight?”
I've got to remember this is just a game
It had been long enough that the pain in his side had stopped. He had since returned to his aimless quest, traveling along the mountain’s side. Only once did he have to change his course, and ascend around the territory of the coyotes (one of them, a large hybrid, had watched his course the whole way and made him feel uneasy) and down towards the coast. Draco paused now and again to inspect a piece of interesting beach glass, and then toss it down the sand. Even this small action was something that helped him relax, and as he had been a child carrying much anger, it was appropriate and necessary for these small things. If he did not find release, he would combust as his father had once did.
That thought alone, that brief image, it made his blood boil. With a low growl, he hurled a large stone down the shore. It bounced off the sand and was sucked into the surf. His blue eyes had become chips of ice, remarkable if only for the fire raging inside of them. There was a nuclear core in his body, and it had been building, growing more and more unstable as he grew up. Still, the ocean was calming, reminding him to find peace, and he inhaled. The shadow of the falcon above him and a warning cry made the boy turn his attention elsewhere. What he found was truly peculiar, given the rural society he had come to expect.
The stranger was masked and wearing a cloak, and as Draco approached he found that he did in fact smell like mint. While Draco himself was in hiding, he was not going to this extent. Whatever this man had done, it had been something terrible—or, perhaps, it was a childish game. Draco smiled thinly, reminding himself that he too was playing a game. He called out: “Have you ever danced with the devil in the pale moonlight?”