From Where the Weapons Were Formed

Cwmfen nic Graine · 08-15-2010, 08:05 AM

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Sorry about the wait! Been traveling across the country, ^=^;; Oh yeah! And she is in Lupus form, in case it was unclear OuO
500+

The eyes watched through the smoke and darkness and white-hot blaze at the large man. The sound of metal upon metal rang unmistakably through the air between them. Double-banded ears listened to that familiar-yet foreign song, and through that song the understanding of what the large male created became known. But she was not sure—for now it was but a sneaking suspicion. Having never before seen what she witnessed then, having never heard the birthing melodies of weapons, the wolf simply watched with that mild curiosity. Content to simply watch from that distance, the wolf sat back upon haunches bound in lean sinew. Her form backlit and yet shadowed remained unnoticed; although she felt that the lower-ranking wolf must have disregarded her presence for now, the Dahlian Warrior was untroubled. She was familiar with a fighting wolf’s ability to take heed of the presence of others in a way in which was foreign to other wolves. She was accustom, however, to simply pass by. Perhaps, if her curiosity were satisfied, she would simply leave without speaking. The large male that struck the metal repeatedly had healed since she had last seen him. She had no need, it seemed to hold a concern for his wellbeing.

But that mild curiosity that moved almost deliberately beneath that impassive tranquility was not sated. The song that seemed so incomplete caused the Warrior to fall into contemplation. Her attention, however, returned immediately to the scene before her when the song abruptly stopped. White orbs peered up to the great height at which the male’s eyes shone. Perhaps she should have donned the less natural shape for this interaction, but for the moment the black she-wolf was content in that shape that had been given her at birth. Woad-banded ears twitched at the sound of his distantly familiar voice—it held much more strength than when he had been bleeding out. At his greeting, the Dahlian she-wolf simply offered a nod in silence, a dip of her maw that offered a greeting in return and a gesture of the respect she held for all members of the flower pack regardless of rank. Even when he spoke again, however, the tranquility seemed unmoved, though not hostile. Her silence and her impassive features seemed almost amiable toward the packmember.

A faint glimmer of warm mirth touched those quiet lips. Another nod of agreement was made. “It seems as if you weren’t ready for Death afterall,” the soft melody sang, silver tones dancing upon the dark air between them. The blue and black wolf recalled the day they had met, and how he had requested from her a fighter's death. Patiently, the Woaded Warrior had not fulfilled his request, determined that he would be permitted to live. Such meetings were not mere coincidence, after all. The Caledonian-Korean felt as though the Morrigan had had something more in mind for her. As the Woaded Warrior fell silent, she rose to standing, although the wolf’s height was nothing in comparison to the blue-eyed male. Those fluid, ethereal movements held her body in that ever-erected posture, both commanding and yet humble. The white orbs held the blue eyes for a moment longer, reflecting upon that particular hue (How similar they were to Haku Soul’s!) before falling to what had been left behind. “It appears that you have found a comfortable place here in Dahlia, wolf.” Perhaps once the dance of formalities have been left behind, the Warrior would inquire about his work. But for now she was patient.

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