04-07-2009, 12:08 AM
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500+
Cwmfen watched the male, and for a moment, the warrior within her told her to leap, to act now while the window of time was still open, for she was sure that Brennt would attack. But, for a moment more, she held back. The warrior could not attack needlessly, though it may have been in her own defense. The warrior could kill, could remove herself and yet feel the strange exhilaration of bringing death upon another. But she could never kill in cold blood. It was the difference between her and the crow wolf: she cherished life. And that was what gave her the will to withhold herself, to maintain the control of her body and movement that was so crucial in the art of war. And perhaps it had been for the best.
She saw something pass over the male, something that she had not been expecting. It had almost been as if the female had needed the fight even as she thwarted it. But no, this change was not of hostility.... At least she did not believe it was. It was strange, as if something were dissolving, but what took the place of that anger the female could not recognize. And the male struggled with this inner thing visibly as he attempted to maintain his display of aggression.... Or perhaps the aggression, that creature into which she had once seen him become, was emerging. This struggle was contorted within the other, and all the female could do was watch in silence, intrigued by this new beauty, this mental warfare.
What came forth was not something that the female expected, but what he said the female understood. She did not understand it within herself, but she understood it as being the root of this creature’s existence. The white orbs watched as the woad bound ears listened. Was it jealousy, or the simple need to be loved in return, to have one’s love be returned? It was such a simple thing to have, but this single denial within his life had changed everything, had created him into something that others could not find beautiful. But the Dahlian Adonis wondered why he was telling her these things—or perhaps he wasn’t. It did not seem as if he were speaking to her....
The eyes were different than they had been, but were they quite as clear as that thing that signified danger? The female made a move to rise, but she paused, her body held deftly in that half-crouch. Perhaps she should not provoke the male, who would surely not look upon her more kindly than he had while not entangled within that conflict of the self. When she finally spoke, still held in that poise, her voice was quiet, almost inaudible. But she spoke with tones that gently pressed themselves upon his ears. "Perhaps she simply didn’t understand you." It was not as if she could claim that she fully understood this creature, but perhaps she could appreciate him more. It was not as if he were completely unapproachable. When she had first stumbled upon him, he had been kind, and she held onto that that thought. And yet, she was ever wary of him, expecting the worst.
500+
Cwmfen watched the male, and for a moment, the warrior within her told her to leap, to act now while the window of time was still open, for she was sure that Brennt would attack. But, for a moment more, she held back. The warrior could not attack needlessly, though it may have been in her own defense. The warrior could kill, could remove herself and yet feel the strange exhilaration of bringing death upon another. But she could never kill in cold blood. It was the difference between her and the crow wolf: she cherished life. And that was what gave her the will to withhold herself, to maintain the control of her body and movement that was so crucial in the art of war. And perhaps it had been for the best.
She saw something pass over the male, something that she had not been expecting. It had almost been as if the female had needed the fight even as she thwarted it. But no, this change was not of hostility.... At least she did not believe it was. It was strange, as if something were dissolving, but what took the place of that anger the female could not recognize. And the male struggled with this inner thing visibly as he attempted to maintain his display of aggression.... Or perhaps the aggression, that creature into which she had once seen him become, was emerging. This struggle was contorted within the other, and all the female could do was watch in silence, intrigued by this new beauty, this mental warfare.
What came forth was not something that the female expected, but what he said the female understood. She did not understand it within herself, but she understood it as being the root of this creature’s existence. The white orbs watched as the woad bound ears listened. Was it jealousy, or the simple need to be loved in return, to have one’s love be returned? It was such a simple thing to have, but this single denial within his life had changed everything, had created him into something that others could not find beautiful. But the Dahlian Adonis wondered why he was telling her these things—or perhaps he wasn’t. It did not seem as if he were speaking to her....
The eyes were different than they had been, but were they quite as clear as that thing that signified danger? The female made a move to rise, but she paused, her body held deftly in that half-crouch. Perhaps she should not provoke the male, who would surely not look upon her more kindly than he had while not entangled within that conflict of the self. When she finally spoke, still held in that poise, her voice was quiet, almost inaudible. But she spoke with tones that gently pressed themselves upon his ears. "Perhaps she simply didn’t understand you." It was not as if she could claim that she fully understood this creature, but perhaps she could appreciate him more. It was not as if he were completely unapproachable. When she had first stumbled upon him, he had been kind, and she held onto that that thought. And yet, she was ever wary of him, expecting the worst.