08-01-2009, 01:05 AM
[html]ooc talk
The soft chiming voice carried to him like a breath of wind, and he glanced over his shoulder, water still dripping from his parted lips. Shame and guilt crossed his expression, a faint sadness in his pale-washed eyes that was quickly masked. Cercelee had mentioned to him what had befallen Cwmfen, but rather than focus on her obvious pain, he fell prey to his own self-loathing, choosing to blame himself for letting Corvus go. He had suffered the least out of all of the crow-wolf's victims, although his subsequent mental breakdown could be construed as damage enough. The lumbering werewolf was struck by the quiet irony; how both the Warrior and Hunter stood before each other, both changed in ways neither of them could ever have predicted. It was nature's way.
"Cwmfen," he rumbled gently, rising with a grunt to his two feet. If he trusted anyone to see him in this frightening new form, it would be her. She held a quiet and worldly aura about her, one whose wisdom he had grown to appreciate. She would not laugh or gawk. And her own form, round with the iconic swelling of her pregnancy - it must be equally difficult for her to accept, he realized. She had never spoken of wanting children. And certainly not of the circumstances that had transpired. "I healed well, thanks to you," he added with a respectful incline of his broad skull. The thick snarls of his mane fell before his eyes, obscuring his face. Everything was so unfamiliar to him now...
Cwmfen's tranquil white gaze regarded him, peaceful despite everything. He smiled lopsidedly, edging nearer to her with small measured steps. It would not do to trip before her. "And you, are you... alright?" he inquired, tilting his head. The innocent question held several layers of meaning, and he knew the enigmatic werewolf would understand what he asked of. He knew very little of the ways of women, and how the puppies were formed in their tummies, and how they knew when the time was right for them to enter the world. But he was beginning to feel the biological tug, the primal desire to sire his own unique offspring, ones he could defend and raise with his mate. He just didn't want to do anything that could harm his mate... he was so much larger than her, and if she had trouble with his children, well, he could never forgive himself.
"Does it... hurt you?"
The soft chiming voice carried to him like a breath of wind, and he glanced over his shoulder, water still dripping from his parted lips. Shame and guilt crossed his expression, a faint sadness in his pale-washed eyes that was quickly masked. Cercelee had mentioned to him what had befallen Cwmfen, but rather than focus on her obvious pain, he fell prey to his own self-loathing, choosing to blame himself for letting Corvus go. He had suffered the least out of all of the crow-wolf's victims, although his subsequent mental breakdown could be construed as damage enough. The lumbering werewolf was struck by the quiet irony; how both the Warrior and Hunter stood before each other, both changed in ways neither of them could ever have predicted. It was nature's way.
"Cwmfen," he rumbled gently, rising with a grunt to his two feet. If he trusted anyone to see him in this frightening new form, it would be her. She held a quiet and worldly aura about her, one whose wisdom he had grown to appreciate. She would not laugh or gawk. And her own form, round with the iconic swelling of her pregnancy - it must be equally difficult for her to accept, he realized. She had never spoken of wanting children. And certainly not of the circumstances that had transpired. "I healed well, thanks to you," he added with a respectful incline of his broad skull. The thick snarls of his mane fell before his eyes, obscuring his face. Everything was so unfamiliar to him now...
Cwmfen's tranquil white gaze regarded him, peaceful despite everything. He smiled lopsidedly, edging nearer to her with small measured steps. It would not do to trip before her. "And you, are you... alright?" he inquired, tilting his head. The innocent question held several layers of meaning, and he knew the enigmatic werewolf would understand what he asked of. He knew very little of the ways of women, and how the puppies were formed in their tummies, and how they knew when the time was right for them to enter the world. But he was beginning to feel the biological tug, the primal desire to sire his own unique offspring, ones he could defend and raise with his mate. He just didn't want to do anything that could harm his mate... he was so much larger than her, and if she had trouble with his children, well, he could never forgive himself.
"Does it... hurt you?"