[m] there is a two-fold silence

Caillen Winters · 06-06-2011, 12:51 AM

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For all his immense size and fury, Caillen had little skill in the fight. He relied purely on instincts honed deeply into his boiling blood, the feral traits of his sinner-father and his whore-mother. The wolf-blood in him demanded freedom, and it pulsed freely to each fresh wound, ran deeply through all iron veins.

Perhaps they looked magnificent, circling and lunging - Violent poetry in motion. The setting sun dyed light fur and it became impossible to tell blood from light from shadow and darkness. His wickedly curved claws found purchase in the flesh of the man's arm, and were christened with his blood as it burst from the body's confines. However, the fight did not hesitate, and a fist met with the man's jaw - his head snapped back in retaliation, but was immediately followed by the other hand. Ezekiel's claws sought his vision, talons scraping over the flesh of his eye-socket and cheekbone.

Another enraged sound pulled from the mammoth male's throat as pain exploded across his face, and his left eye became blinded by a red waterfall. The good eye focused on his attacker, and it was filled with hatred, hatred and sorrow and confusion. Like a wounded bear he retaliated, meeting the swinging fist with a parry, and heaving his immense body-weight behind clenched knuckles so that they might revenge his own mauled face with the handsome visage of the stranger.

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