01-22-2009, 08:23 PM
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500+
As her black, dual banded ears received his curt reply, they twitched. The sound of his words was different than those prior, for there implied something contrary and yet apparent in his demeanor. Something, a growl perhaps, stirred silently, clawing in the dark with violent tendrils. But she brushed away such dark tendencies, for they were needless here. She wondered what made such things move within her, for the blue-eyed male gave her no reason to become hostile. It was merely tone, and perhaps he had not meant to give it in such a way. The woad-warrior, still inept in the dealings of social behavior, was unable to discern the reasons for such things, and she held her self still in the dark.
As he approached, a certain amount of tension returned to her body. Trained for war, trained to fight, the female responded to his approach without a second thought. The tension was not immediately visible, not like a flinch would be. It was almost an implication, a change in the air about her. His approach, however, was slow and unhurried, and his step did not betray any eagerness that would be held in the gait of one approaching to attack. Once more, she let the tension slowly slip from her muscles, but they remained tightly wound about her frame, ready to spring into action should she require it. But, as he stopped, offering a smile, it seemed almost as if this would be a friendly encounter. The female did not readily return the smile, and her body shifted, turning as if meaning to walk away.
His request stopped her, as if his voice wound about her wrist like an iron-gripped fist. The ears swiveled back as she listened to the silence that followed his words. Their sound was different from his previous reply. They were, despite his appearance, quite calm. Perhaps she should have viewed this as dangerous, but she concluded that such things attributed to his ability to control himself. Quietly, she turned back to face the black male, nodding in compliance. "Alright," she said slowly, her voice almost a whisper. She decided that the male intrigued her after all, and her curiosity bid her to stay and explore this unexpected personality. As a creature of ancient custom, she found him to be refreshing—one of the best encounters she’d had with lone wolves (her mind went with particular disgust to the rude Nikolai Russo). Thus far. The woad warrior never allowed herself to express optimism too eagerly.
The white orbs considered the male as she offered him a soft, amiable smile. "I hail from Caledonia, in the lands across the sea." But she could not return there. Though now she knew that her father had not raped her—yet—she could not leave the safety of these lands without making herself vulnerable to a life she did not wish to have. And now she knew why that crow-wolf wanted her, and she would not give it to him. The warrior, while timid and humble, was a proud creature, willing to face and defy Death until she would have no choice but to relinquish life to Death’s hungering jaws.
"And you, sir?" the Tilia inquired. She was a curious creature, and she wondered at the origins of others as much as they wondered about her. Perhaps, if this encounter continued to prove unthreatening, she would allow herself to introduce herself—yet, perhaps she would do so anyway, for her curiosity and politeness would move her to do so. Her face softened slightly as she realized that she was enjoying his company.
500+
As her black, dual banded ears received his curt reply, they twitched. The sound of his words was different than those prior, for there implied something contrary and yet apparent in his demeanor. Something, a growl perhaps, stirred silently, clawing in the dark with violent tendrils. But she brushed away such dark tendencies, for they were needless here. She wondered what made such things move within her, for the blue-eyed male gave her no reason to become hostile. It was merely tone, and perhaps he had not meant to give it in such a way. The woad-warrior, still inept in the dealings of social behavior, was unable to discern the reasons for such things, and she held her self still in the dark.
As he approached, a certain amount of tension returned to her body. Trained for war, trained to fight, the female responded to his approach without a second thought. The tension was not immediately visible, not like a flinch would be. It was almost an implication, a change in the air about her. His approach, however, was slow and unhurried, and his step did not betray any eagerness that would be held in the gait of one approaching to attack. Once more, she let the tension slowly slip from her muscles, but they remained tightly wound about her frame, ready to spring into action should she require it. But, as he stopped, offering a smile, it seemed almost as if this would be a friendly encounter. The female did not readily return the smile, and her body shifted, turning as if meaning to walk away.
His request stopped her, as if his voice wound about her wrist like an iron-gripped fist. The ears swiveled back as she listened to the silence that followed his words. Their sound was different from his previous reply. They were, despite his appearance, quite calm. Perhaps she should have viewed this as dangerous, but she concluded that such things attributed to his ability to control himself. Quietly, she turned back to face the black male, nodding in compliance. "Alright," she said slowly, her voice almost a whisper. She decided that the male intrigued her after all, and her curiosity bid her to stay and explore this unexpected personality. As a creature of ancient custom, she found him to be refreshing—one of the best encounters she’d had with lone wolves (her mind went with particular disgust to the rude Nikolai Russo). Thus far. The woad warrior never allowed herself to express optimism too eagerly.
The white orbs considered the male as she offered him a soft, amiable smile. "I hail from Caledonia, in the lands across the sea." But she could not return there. Though now she knew that her father had not raped her—yet—she could not leave the safety of these lands without making herself vulnerable to a life she did not wish to have. And now she knew why that crow-wolf wanted her, and she would not give it to him. The warrior, while timid and humble, was a proud creature, willing to face and defy Death until she would have no choice but to relinquish life to Death’s hungering jaws.
"And you, sir?" the Tilia inquired. She was a curious creature, and she wondered at the origins of others as much as they wondered about her. Perhaps, if this encounter continued to prove unthreatening, she would allow herself to introduce herself—yet, perhaps she would do so anyway, for her curiosity and politeness would move her to do so. Her face softened slightly as she realized that she was enjoying his company.