03-24-2011, 03:16 PM
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D'Neville Mansion Lake.
Most of Zombie's days were spent wandering around on two legs, exploring and collecting things into a small box she had crafted. She was quite handy; but artistry wasn't her only gift—she simply chose it most often as an outlet, considering her ill feelings had yet to be directed onto anyone. The black wraith, however, did not always enjoy being in her more dextrous form. There was a sort of simple pleasure in being on all fours, a sense of instinctive wildness that livened her senses and brought new light to the woman's surname, Feral. This was how she was now, albeit small, she was a dark shadow streaking across the mansion's yard, an almost insignificant speck until you noticed the glint of her wine-red eyes, reflecting morbidly in the dim light of the moon.
White cutlery flashed as the skinny 'yote gave chase to a frightened vole, and she snatched up the poor creature, allowing a singularly tortured squeak before dispatching it. She carried the plump creature in her jaws, padding lithely into the dense expanse of vegetation before emerging beside a small lake she had not yet explored. Zombie glanced left and right cautiously, before setting her tender meal down and lying in front of it like some sort of big-eared cat.
Her sleek body stretched, and her bushy tail gave length to her otherwise very petite frame. Her eyes gazed silently onto the reflective pond water, and she waited—perhaps no longer feeling hungry. The strange woman's ears were erect, and she listened patiently for any noises in the darkness. Perhaps she only felt comfortable eating once she thought she was truly alone. And satisfied with the silence, aside from the bothersome crickets lounging in the thicket behind her, she sunk her claws and fangs into the juicy meat of her simple catch.
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D'Neville Mansion Lake.
Most of Zombie's days were spent wandering around on two legs, exploring and collecting things into a small box she had crafted. She was quite handy; but artistry wasn't her only gift—she simply chose it most often as an outlet, considering her ill feelings had yet to be directed onto anyone. The black wraith, however, did not always enjoy being in her more dextrous form. There was a sort of simple pleasure in being on all fours, a sense of instinctive wildness that livened her senses and brought new light to the woman's surname, Feral. This was how she was now, albeit small, she was a dark shadow streaking across the mansion's yard, an almost insignificant speck until you noticed the glint of her wine-red eyes, reflecting morbidly in the dim light of the moon.
White cutlery flashed as the skinny 'yote gave chase to a frightened vole, and she snatched up the poor creature, allowing a singularly tortured squeak before dispatching it. She carried the plump creature in her jaws, padding lithely into the dense expanse of vegetation before emerging beside a small lake she had not yet explored. Zombie glanced left and right cautiously, before setting her tender meal down and lying in front of it like some sort of big-eared cat.
Her sleek body stretched, and her bushy tail gave length to her otherwise very petite frame. Her eyes gazed silently onto the reflective pond water, and she waited—perhaps no longer feeling hungry. The strange woman's ears were erect, and she listened patiently for any noises in the darkness. Perhaps she only felt comfortable eating once she thought she was truly alone. And satisfied with the silence, aside from the bothersome crickets lounging in the thicket behind her, she sunk her claws and fangs into the juicy meat of her simple catch.