meds make me write poorly ;-;
The golden coyote was severely underdressed, but he carried himself with the pride that his rank allowed. Aquila of Inferni, most terrible and savage, now led the pale woman to the dance floor. He imitated Haven’s steps at a slower pace, unsure of himself and unsure of her , but there was a simple enough pace and order to the music. He allowed this to guide them, never faltering even when he made a misstep. A broad smile crossed his face as they went, and for the time, there was only this moment.
Around them the bright colors of the silk-draped tent and other dancers spun and moved with the motion of the dance and the cold air from outside. A cacophony of noise filled his ears, from the noise, from the laughter of the other dancers, from the voices of those around and even further, outside of the tent. Ezekiel grinned broadly and quickened his pace, satisfied that Giselle was able to keep up. He moved close to her as to better serve as their guide, his body reading her movements as he would read someone in a fight. It was different, of course, but his body likened it to the same. For this moment, he was truly happy—and it showed on his face, beaming as it only did in combat.
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