t h i r s t
08-18-2016, 03:51 AM
Her breathing is a soft thing. Slight billows of that deep chest, though it was but narrow. Her paws are relaxed, her entire body is still until the spilling forth of a voice, and the sudden appearance of a wolf. There’d be a moment where she’d be still, and then she’d flow to her feet, head lowered and hackles lifted. It was a position of defence, not aggression. Those silver eyes, cutting so severely through the distance between them, allowed for her to show no submission. Her tail was lifted, showing her confidence, her feet planting steadily upon the dryness of the ground. Despite the smallest sign that she’d be ready to fight, it is a pleasant, if husky, smoky voice that spills forth from the delicately tapered muzzle.
Afternoon. She is abrupt with her words only for the loss that she has experienced without Carpe at her side where he truly belonged.
The female is treated to a keen gaze, running from nose to haunches. She was well-fed, taller and heavier than Diem – though that didn’t distract her from her defensive position. It was her colouring that roused the interest of the charcoal pelted woman, stood with her hip cocked just so. She is three-toned, but not of grey. No, it is black, white and tan that are banded in the same way fur typically was. Her body eases a little as she draws back, silver eyes remaining fixed on the larger she-wolf.
It’s a free world, I assume. Help yourself. The words trail forth from between her lips, a deepness to her tone that Carpe had caused. She is no Noctem – that much Diem can decide from here. He’d have bowled her over by now, pinned her and forced her submission.
No for the flowing female, cloaked in raven-feather fur, she is outside of such petty squabbles as pack. She is as wild and free as the wind, tethered only by the adoration she had for Carpe. She’d relax the tension in her body, her ears returning to prick upon the top of her head. There is an alertness to her. Ears twist to and fro to capture every sound, nostrils flare to pick up the scents both around her and on the female in front of her. The woman is scarred, but not to the extent of Carpe. Silver eyes remain focused with the deadly attention of a hunting bird. The horns around her legs, added protection, draw her own scars out from the netherworld of her legs. She is tall, but nothing as big as the wolves around her, it seemed.
Where is this place? There is a singular tilt of her head. A shifting movement that spoke of her relative youth compared to the experience and wisdom of this woman in front of her. She had an air of innocence about her, despite the luxurious manner in which she had acted. Perhaps a little spoiled, perhaps just arrogant enough to know that she could survive all that life threw at her. She didn’t care for announcing that she had no plans. That there was no clue for her where it was she’d wandered. She was away from her place of birth; that was all that mattered to her. Her hackles had long since smoothed back down, a cape of ink washing down her body from the tip of her black nose to the very tip of her tail. She is a wolf on which age will show early. My name is Diem. The introduction is abrupt as the first she’d spoken to the woman.
She needed to make sure wolves here didn’t see fit to take advantage of her. She held strength within her grasp, and some skill with healing… needed when your partner in life brawled more than you did. She wanted to make a good showing off them, allow herself to make possible future alliances. She is thrown off balance by the absence of her partner, yet she does not allow it to stop her, even as she shifts endlessly to keep the woman at lunging distance, and within her silver sights. If there were any wolves around her; well, she’d do her damned best to show them not to mess with her. Blood barely showed on fur as dark as her own.
Afternoon. She is abrupt with her words only for the loss that she has experienced without Carpe at her side where he truly belonged.
The female is treated to a keen gaze, running from nose to haunches. She was well-fed, taller and heavier than Diem – though that didn’t distract her from her defensive position. It was her colouring that roused the interest of the charcoal pelted woman, stood with her hip cocked just so. She is three-toned, but not of grey. No, it is black, white and tan that are banded in the same way fur typically was. Her body eases a little as she draws back, silver eyes remaining fixed on the larger she-wolf.
It’s a free world, I assume. Help yourself. The words trail forth from between her lips, a deepness to her tone that Carpe had caused. She is no Noctem – that much Diem can decide from here. He’d have bowled her over by now, pinned her and forced her submission.
No for the flowing female, cloaked in raven-feather fur, she is outside of such petty squabbles as pack. She is as wild and free as the wind, tethered only by the adoration she had for Carpe. She’d relax the tension in her body, her ears returning to prick upon the top of her head. There is an alertness to her. Ears twist to and fro to capture every sound, nostrils flare to pick up the scents both around her and on the female in front of her. The woman is scarred, but not to the extent of Carpe. Silver eyes remain focused with the deadly attention of a hunting bird. The horns around her legs, added protection, draw her own scars out from the netherworld of her legs. She is tall, but nothing as big as the wolves around her, it seemed.
Where is this place? There is a singular tilt of her head. A shifting movement that spoke of her relative youth compared to the experience and wisdom of this woman in front of her. She had an air of innocence about her, despite the luxurious manner in which she had acted. Perhaps a little spoiled, perhaps just arrogant enough to know that she could survive all that life threw at her. She didn’t care for announcing that she had no plans. That there was no clue for her where it was she’d wandered. She was away from her place of birth; that was all that mattered to her. Her hackles had long since smoothed back down, a cape of ink washing down her body from the tip of her black nose to the very tip of her tail. She is a wolf on which age will show early. My name is Diem. The introduction is abrupt as the first she’d spoken to the woman.
She needed to make sure wolves here didn’t see fit to take advantage of her. She held strength within her grasp, and some skill with healing… needed when your partner in life brawled more than you did. She wanted to make a good showing off them, allow herself to make possible future alliances. She is thrown off balance by the absence of her partner, yet she does not allow it to stop her, even as she shifts endlessly to keep the woman at lunging distance, and within her silver sights. If there were any wolves around her; well, she’d do her damned best to show them not to mess with her. Blood barely showed on fur as dark as her own.