Contemplation

Deteste of Ludicael. His time had been short in Ludicael and the title that the woman gave him caused Deteste to laugh. Ah, I am Deteste. Yet now I am a man without a country. his voice would flow strongly from him and in their interaction he would forget his previously stunned state. How do you know me, may I ask? And who will you be to me? He inquired with some curiosity, his tight smile loosening as his expression warmed. Deteste would slowly close the distance between them, taking a carefully placed seat a stride or two away from the woman. His rump sinking a couple of inches into the snow. A gentle breeze would bring a flurry of soft snow between the two wolves. The ice settled like a fine dust upon Deteste's black coat. His scars were ever cold in the winter season. It was interesting just how aware he was of each one. How he remembered their stories. They grounded him.



He pondered what others may think of them as he studied the woman with a gentle eye, his head slightly ducked against the growing wind. She was beautiful. For a moment the man wondered what it may be like to be recognized for beauty instead of scars. Never in his life would he knew truly what he appeared as to others. Reflections within water were often muddy and misleading. He had never pondered such concerns into appearances and he was unsure why he pondered them now. Perhaps the woman's grace had touched him. It had certainly taken him aback upon first sight and now it seemed that he was still grasped by it. Where others may covet beauty it would make a man like Deteste ponder the significance of such qualities.

"Speech"