10-04-2009, 09:43 PM
[html]ooc: Phooey, I'm so sorry I let this thread slip through the cracks!! ;__; Your writing is beautiful, by the way...
When the stranger and his otherworldly bird did not startle or flee, he let a sheepish smile flit about his countenance, self-conscious under their scrutiny. He swallowed nervously, running his broad hand through the white snarls of his shaggy mane. "I... didn't mean to intrude," he murmured, voice deep in his chest. His timbre was so unfamiliar to his ears now, lower than he remembered it being. After a moment's hesitation, he sank to his haunches, squatting before the sand to be on the same level as the other wolf. He hated being stared at.
The dying sunlight was dappling the ground, adding painterly hues to the two werewolves' fur. It was so still, so peaceful and yet - it felt like the calm right before the drop, as though something were about to happen. Perhaps it was the sun's descent into darkness that gave him that impression, or the niggling feeling of urgency towards something he could not put words to. Change was abundant, though. He had already changed his very form, risen up onto two legs after five years of rejecting the gene he'd been born with. Truly, none were more obstinate about not changing than Slay. Was he finally realizing, as some mid-life crisis struck, that a little change would not be the end of the world?
"...Your bird," he finally said, ice-pale eyes deep with concentration. He did not want to ask too personal a question, for he could sense that she was some extension of this wolf - and indeed, sense that she was a "she" - but curiosity was such a driving impulse... "She... reminds me of someone. Someone I've only met in my dreams." He rested his chin on his palm, tilting his head at a vaguely quizzical angle. He had trouble remembering the dreams when the Animal was there. He knew the creature did it on purpose, too.
When the stranger and his otherworldly bird did not startle or flee, he let a sheepish smile flit about his countenance, self-conscious under their scrutiny. He swallowed nervously, running his broad hand through the white snarls of his shaggy mane. "I... didn't mean to intrude," he murmured, voice deep in his chest. His timbre was so unfamiliar to his ears now, lower than he remembered it being. After a moment's hesitation, he sank to his haunches, squatting before the sand to be on the same level as the other wolf. He hated being stared at.
The dying sunlight was dappling the ground, adding painterly hues to the two werewolves' fur. It was so still, so peaceful and yet - it felt like the calm right before the drop, as though something were about to happen. Perhaps it was the sun's descent into darkness that gave him that impression, or the niggling feeling of urgency towards something he could not put words to. Change was abundant, though. He had already changed his very form, risen up onto two legs after five years of rejecting the gene he'd been born with. Truly, none were more obstinate about not changing than Slay. Was he finally realizing, as some mid-life crisis struck, that a little change would not be the end of the world?
"...Your bird," he finally said, ice-pale eyes deep with concentration. He did not want to ask too personal a question, for he could sense that she was some extension of this wolf - and indeed, sense that she was a "she" - but curiosity was such a driving impulse... "She... reminds me of someone. Someone I've only met in my dreams." He rested his chin on his palm, tilting his head at a vaguely quizzical angle. He had trouble remembering the dreams when the Animal was there. He knew the creature did it on purpose, too.