table © Alaine
ooc: manslave at the ready!
wc: 714
To have her attention was a blissful thing. Not that Caillen had been an attention-deprived child; His mother had lavished all she had to give unto her son, and likewise with his early comrade, the young collie-girl who's disappearance had spurned the vagabond to his merry wanderings. But her attention, oh, it was of a different caliber, a different heightened sense of glee to perceive the interest in the fem-fatale spark of her crimson gaze, her wicked smile. The girls of his pup-hood had denied him thus, for difference there was a frightening thing, a wicked thing. He had been different in all ways, and their rebuke had stung the little Romeo deeply. In physical age, it seemed, little parted the two, but in mental, the difference was astonishing. He, with little more wit than a mewling new-born, bowing now at the feet of a girl whose blood-dripped eyes had seen a thousand aches, or so it seemed.
Caillen's horrors were of a different thing, a dream-thing, for his consciousness had been fleeting at the scarring events surrounding his birth. Alaine had strived, with every bone in her slender body, to bring up her son oblivious to the pain of the world around him. Only in sleep could the horrors haunt him, tear at his mind with their wicked teeth. In daylight, he was but a foolish soul, a strand of blue sky and sunlight twisted to form a living, breathing creature.
Now, freshly a man, though less so a boy trapped in the body of his age, the youth looked upon his hybrid admirer with naivety and the innate sense of friendliness that pervaded his very being. Such a sunny view, to assume the best in all characters, rather than to wonder why her smile glinted like crocodile teeth in the dappled forest light. Such a fragile mind. So easily corrupted, persuaded, used.
Her voice, that cunningly raspy tone that hinted at a thrum of pleasure in her throat, caressed the boy's eagerly waiting ears. At the sound of his own name, thick tail set to thumping the ground in a goofish manner. Rather than detract from his perceived handsomeness, this display of feckless anticipation sought only to make the lowered youth appear more biddable, more willing, more seeking of her appraisal. All thoughts of the treachery of woman-kind had already flown free of his wandering mind. Sky-blue eyes drank in her words like a drowning man reaching for shore, with she the sand bank just out of reach. "I? Well, m'lady, I..." His mind went blank for a moment, basking as he was in this display of kindness she so willingly offered. Swallowing hastily, the wolfdog tried again. "I didnae seek anything far from home, Miss, but wish'd no more than tae... Tae know of the world, I suppose. My Mama, she's a good lady, but she did nae understand that a man must surely become a man sometime. I could nae stay cooped up in there forever, Miss Aislin." For a moment his charming bravado became a countenance of contemplation, wondering anon at the true reasoning behind his leaving. Perhaps, as had been the case with his never-mentioned father, the boy was in possession of particularly ticklish feet. Migration was the way of many canine 'Souls, after all.
His eyes, having parted with thoughts of home, returned now to the facade of his female dominae with loyal swiftness. Remaining upon his downy-white belly so as to assure her of his submissiveness, the gentle giant crossed one huge paw over the other and cocked his head merrily at her. "Was worth is, Miss, tae see the fell things that I have seen. Imagine, a bear! Your forest - Er, this forest - is strange indeed, tae hold such t-t-treasures." For indeed he had seen (and met) with the shaggy brown on his trek, in a place not so far from this world, her world. But she seemed to be the most peculiar (and spectacular) creature that this silent glade had hidden from sight; A secret siren, bearing the face of nobility and the heart of a wolf-killer. If any were to hold skill enough to turn this boy into a killer, surely it could be none other than she.
Speak think walk
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