Lets make a wager on that

Frodo Silvertongue · 12-15-2011, 04:26 PM

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Word Count :: 000 xDDD poor Light

It was a throaty chuckle that escaped numb and protruding lips at Light’s joke, indeed he seemed almost sinister to Frodo, in a somewhat…nice way. If nice was the word. Pairs. was the answer at once, and the man leapt up from his cross-legged position soundly, both ears twitching in the eagerness for the hunt. What I mean is, we’ll be workin’ together on the moosey. On birdies, we takin’ turns. I gotta lend you my bow, see? You follow? another brief tail wag and he was still, nose pointing straight ahead as Frodo stared intently down a forked path in the snow, positioned just like a hunting dog. It was only the slightest of indications that he had heard what Light had to say next, and when Frodo answered his voice was but a whisper. You gotta yourself a deal, skipper.

His belated breath cut through the air like a knife through butter, the hot steamy texture showing up clearly on the cold winters morning. Frodo had seen something in the distance, or rather, smelt something, that was the reason for his pointer’s position. He unfastened his cloak, un-shouldered his bow and quiver, and then shifted quickly into Secui. Now in an overly large, muscled form, he felt clumsy. This was the form he was least familiar with. But Frodo was certain he would overcome the awkwardness. Still with a bandana and necklace round his neck, he looked a tad like a pet rather than his own wolf, but he couldn’t bear to part with either accessory. You smellin’ that, ponyboy? Lead the way, I do declare. Let the master show us how it’s done.

Image courtesy of Scott Hudson **; Table by the Mentors!

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