05-08-2009, 01:35 PM
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In the Trenches; sorry for the crap, >____<
500+
The brute had traveled far after leaving behind Dahlia de Mai. Tokyo Chance had simply been in his path, an unfortunate victim of that game he played. And the pied brute believed that that step in the game had gone well. Cwmfen would find his scent there at one point intermingled with the scent of that thing that was her pack member. And if she did not.... someone else would. He knew the ways in which packs preferred to function; someone would be by that locale and smell him. If the lighter brute or his daughter had not informed the other pack members of his presence and motive, that scene would simply be a mystery. The brute sneered. And now he had fallen back behind the lines, pulling as far away from that place with a swiftness of the falling night. It was a tactic—fear? Perhaps. But now that he was far beyond the reach of his daughter, she would be moved to wonder, to anticipate, to become anxious. But he knew that it was not yet time for the game to end. And the crow wolf was patient.
The black talons of the brute clawed the uneven earth of stone beneath him, the sound of those clawings scraping the air with an unmasked presence. His arrogance was such that he did not believe himself to be needed to remain concealed, and yet he walked with that unnatural silence that characterized the terrorizing night, that characterized nightmares and the anticipation of fear. The secui’s thick fur moved quietly in that whispering, whining wind, its fingers pulling at his fur, trying to push the shadows from his body. But those shadows hissed and clung like the writhing bodies of snakes coiled about his body and yet unable to kill him. That cold façade was not moved by the wind and the patterns of the dark, and his fathomless, empty orbs watched only the world ahead of him, though he saw much more. Those black ears, raised above his head like the horns of a demon, lifted, hearing a change in the wind, the soft whisper of Death.
The Raven, one-eyed and pied, crawed above him. The black orbs turned up, and the secui shifted. The change was relatively quick, and his lean, muscled body was sculpted from the dark as the wind wrapped about him. And the Raven came to him, silently upon the wind. Those rough hands turned up as if accepting a gift, and the one-eyed bird landed upon those palms. Silently, the brute listened, and the bird seemed to say nothing—and everything. A sneer flickered across his maw, a mocking sneer, a knowing sneer. And then he sent the bird back into the dark dome, and it disappeared just as it had come, swiftly and silently. The fathomless, hollow orbs of the brute were almost contemplative as they regarded the ocean beyond that surely moved within the dark, the black tail of the Korean carving that serpent’s path into the moving air.
In the Trenches; sorry for the crap, >____<
500+
The brute had traveled far after leaving behind Dahlia de Mai. Tokyo Chance had simply been in his path, an unfortunate victim of that game he played. And the pied brute believed that that step in the game had gone well. Cwmfen would find his scent there at one point intermingled with the scent of that thing that was her pack member. And if she did not.... someone else would. He knew the ways in which packs preferred to function; someone would be by that locale and smell him. If the lighter brute or his daughter had not informed the other pack members of his presence and motive, that scene would simply be a mystery. The brute sneered. And now he had fallen back behind the lines, pulling as far away from that place with a swiftness of the falling night. It was a tactic—fear? Perhaps. But now that he was far beyond the reach of his daughter, she would be moved to wonder, to anticipate, to become anxious. But he knew that it was not yet time for the game to end. And the crow wolf was patient.
The black talons of the brute clawed the uneven earth of stone beneath him, the sound of those clawings scraping the air with an unmasked presence. His arrogance was such that he did not believe himself to be needed to remain concealed, and yet he walked with that unnatural silence that characterized the terrorizing night, that characterized nightmares and the anticipation of fear. The secui’s thick fur moved quietly in that whispering, whining wind, its fingers pulling at his fur, trying to push the shadows from his body. But those shadows hissed and clung like the writhing bodies of snakes coiled about his body and yet unable to kill him. That cold façade was not moved by the wind and the patterns of the dark, and his fathomless, empty orbs watched only the world ahead of him, though he saw much more. Those black ears, raised above his head like the horns of a demon, lifted, hearing a change in the wind, the soft whisper of Death.
The Raven, one-eyed and pied, crawed above him. The black orbs turned up, and the secui shifted. The change was relatively quick, and his lean, muscled body was sculpted from the dark as the wind wrapped about him. And the Raven came to him, silently upon the wind. Those rough hands turned up as if accepting a gift, and the one-eyed bird landed upon those palms. Silently, the brute listened, and the bird seemed to say nothing—and everything. A sneer flickered across his maw, a mocking sneer, a knowing sneer. And then he sent the bird back into the dark dome, and it disappeared just as it had come, swiftly and silently. The fathomless, hollow orbs of the brute were almost contemplative as they regarded the ocean beyond that surely moved within the dark, the black tail of the Korean carving that serpent’s path into the moving air.