lives, your life.
03-02-2017, 06:29 PM
| The pale creature moves like a roll of thunder across the grounds, head high, unsure of what to think. What to think, what he knows. Head high, eyes bright. That's the thing, blue and gold, but pale. Stands out like a ghost in the grey summer dawn. It's just breaking, and he's already away from the den. Far from the den, far from his parents, his siblings. Far, far away from him, the Dancefloor of the Gods. Exploring, learning the borders and the boundaries. The winterborn is not graceful, but he is strong. Grey. Around his shoulders, it hangs. The summer sun hadn't risen quite yet, starting to wake over the sleepy grounds. Dew in the high grass, clinging to his sides as he traipses forth. Head hanging on his shoulders, relaxed. Eyes wide and bright, trying to take in as much light as he possibly can. Trying, he supposes. It's a light jog for a large frame, gaze bright, moving slowly. Always slowly, rolling, nearly lazy about his gait. Today would be fine, Torin had already decided. Fine. Frankly, no more and no less. Hulking, but even. Careful, but curious. TORiN bet you'd be disappointed |