all the fear of the fire at the end of the world
06-07-2019, 07:44 PM
(This post was last modified: 06-08-2019, 03:11 AM by Cannival.)
Cannival Dark form of the soot-stained lioness lay curled inside a charred patch of thicket where she had made her home weeks prior. The shrubbery in which she had denned had been burned to the ground, leaving only remnants of ash and lumps of broken foliage behind. The way the Cannival saw it, she was still on probation. Whether the Rustling Thicket had burned down or not, this was where she was told to stay until the wolves could accept her. So far, they hadn't. A quiet puff of black lips summed up her thoughts on the matter. Left ear flicked lazily as the sharp snap of a fire-hollowed twig broke the silence. Whatever was approaching, Cannival was unconcerned. They wolves here had made it very clear that they didn't take well to outsiders, and the lioness was more then convinced that if a stranger had made it past the borders that the pack's warriors would have intercepted it long before it reached this deep into the territory. "They're good at their job." She thought bitterly. Epitaph's approach did nothing to stir the lioness, her eyes rolled skyward away from him and she found her voice to throw his direction. "Motif is not here." |