Practice makes perfect
11-17-2014, 07:00 PM
If he was going to avenge his mother, then he needed to know how to fight. He would leave Arcanum and venture forth, unsure of his destination. But he soon came across a land that smelled heavily of blood. He would wrinkle his nose with distaste, his hackles bristling with uncertainty. He had never been to such a place, nor knew such a place even existed. He would tread with caution, his eyes darting back and forth. The smell of blood and death was prominent, invading his nostrils unpleasantly. Is there where wolves came to settle their disputes. He would take a chance and tip his head back, his deep voice filling the air as he sought someone to spar with. His head would fall even with his spine, his tucking instinctively against his throat while his hackles remained upright. His gaze continued to dart around, his ears torn between pinning back and swiveling to catch the sound of a strangers approach. He would allow the silence to surround him, the snow gentle clinging to his pelt as he waited. Speech, |
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