Cold can stain, but fur can wash up[joining]
06-24-2013, 05:15 PM
Masqurading as a man with a Reason my Charade is the Event of the Season though my eyes could see, I still was a blind man though my mind could think, I still was a mad man I hear the voices when I'm dreaming I can hear them say: ~*~ "So I gather," the brute rumbled tonelessly. "In which case, you'd be looking at your Chief. My name is Gargoyle." The wolf's neck was arched and thick, his legs stood apart and steady with an easy balance. Most alpha's would've completed the natural dominance look with a curled tail, but thanks to a crazy-butt she-moose, Gargoyle didn't have his anymore. Neath his thick winter coat ran a maze of other scars, many deep enough to kill, but his movements were supple enough to show that they'd healed up just fine. His tattered left ear was the only outward sign he had from the time he'd been ambushed and left for dead in the middle of the frozen wastes. It was the little things - his scars, his posture, that could be read by another warrior with an experienced eye. They told a dangerous story. But what was this she-wolf's story. Gargoyle's eyes were all he had to help him decide whether this wolf was worthy of his pack - or if she was some sort of spy. They'd been having trouble enough with Amenti lately, and they were a whole pack of spies and assassins. If it were just his own company, he wouldn't mind taking a risk and getting to know a stranger, but he had other lives under his protection. Many of them injured. Many of them young. He looked the fae over curiously. Going by her coat and her scents, she was a rogue and had been for some time. Still, she was well fed, apparently she knew how to fend for herself. A lone wolf in good condition is a rare hunter. That added to her favor at least. And while she had shown subtle signs of nervousness in his presence (which could mean a healthy respect for packs), she was still plenty brave enough to stand there and exchange words. "Well Eren, Glaciem is always happy to add another hunter or warrior to their ranks." He flicked a military gaze over her muscles. "My guess is that you are capable of both." He shrugged. "But such skills can always be taught. What's more important to us is your mind. Are you the sort of wolf who can appreciate authority? Who can value her packmates and swear to protect them?" He rolled his massive shoulders and, gathering his hind legs, sat down in the soft pillow of snow. He'd become more or less immune to frostbite a while ago. "We're something like a family here," the beast added. "We look out for eachother. Once we let someone in, they have our trust and our fellowship." He cocked his head. "A rare thing these days." Carry on my Wayward Son There'll be peace when you are done |
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