taking steps is easy; standing still is hard
08-08-2013, 08:42 PM
As Basilisk slipped into the depths of the earth itself, all he found was darkness. It was a strange stone structure, one that made him both inquisitive and hesitant -- he pressed his nose to the stone wall of the crypt and followed the entrance downward, perching precariously on all fours as he walked, not willing to slip and injure himself. The stone was strangely smooth, and he found it hard for his pads to keep a perfect grip as he descended further. It took some time for his sight to grow accustomed to the darkness, but even as it did, it was still so dark -- too dark to see ahead of him farther than a foot or so. He had wandered here, quite truthfully, to search for the woman that had slain his father. He did not yet know her name, but her scent remained firmly implanted in his mind, refusing to loosen its grip on him. It had led him nearby, but the darkness here had stolen his attention. Though he was now a yearling, he was still very much a child in some ways, finding it difficult to stifle his curiosity when it was roused. And so he went, slipping into the crypts and soon finding himself rather lost. He was not afraid, for the concept of death meant nothing to him. He had little to live for, anyway, except to avenge his father; his mother was all but gone, his siblings both vanished without a trace. Not that he had tried terribly hard to look for them. As he took a sharp turn left, feeling along the walls with his snout, his perked ears heard something, a soft sound bouncing off the solid stone walls. Was that the sound of a child crying? A look of distaste immediately crossed his features, his nose wrinkling as he drew himself nearer to it, his interest piqued. He was somewhat startled when he caught a flash of white and orange fur, in the distance -- he had to squint to see the form of a girl, quivering and curled against a stone wall. "Someone take you here to die? Or were you so stupid to back yourself into this corner?" It was hard for him to imagine being so helpless, so vulnerable, and he eyed her warily, no emotion gleaming in his purple gaze. He snorted softly, wondering who she was, and why her scent was vaguely familiar to him. |
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