Cheers To the End
12-06-2013, 10:22 PM
Aros froze mid-step as the cutting words of the lump in the snow reached him. His ears flicked in anger but he held in a snarl, knowing better than to provoke what he had not observed. He turned slowly, just in time to see the small wolf rise from the snow. While her stature was smaller than his, both in height and weight, she had the eyes of a killer. He had seen them many times, and had become adept at picking them out, even among shadows and deception. The noble line of Ysgarion, a slave? The idea of imprisonment by anyone, let alone this runt of a fae, made his fur itch with anger. He looked at her with sharp, narrowed eyes, assessing her as he had been taught. Her blood did not seem so strong to him, and even the finest could not boast of immortality. His voice was low and deep and rumbled akin to stone on stone when he spoke. "A prudent wolf might mind their words before they spoke them," he murmured, baritone cutting through the biting wind. "Especially when they do not know precisely whom they speak them to." It was unlike him to poke and prod at wolves he hardly knew, but the delay of his trek and a gnawing hunger had put him in a foul temper. If this young wolf was to be the unfortunate vessel upon which he vented, a part of him would be sorry. A small part, but a part nonetheless. "Speech," Thoughts, |