kissing lit matches
04-23-2014, 02:56 PM
Her babes were still nowhere to be seen, out exploring on their own, making friends. She missed them, but the whelps needed their own lives as well. Tea cupped paws of pure ebony would strike against the terra as she meandered through the plains of refuse. Clinking against stone, shards of glass would be swept out of her path with each step. Her strange, dual toned optics would float over the land with a bored expression on her sharp, dainty features. Long plume would caress her heels as she turned her gaze to the darkened horizon. It was night, the wickedly curved sliver of moon providing a little light from the heavens. The stars twinkled above, cold and distant as her step mother had been all those years ago. A huff would shudder through her flanks as the sultry shadow would continue on, seeking nothing in particular. In the back of her mind, some part of her still dared to wonder if her once beloved would return, the eternal grinner begging her forgiveness as she grovelled on her knees. Doubtful, no one ever came back for her. A yawn would stretch wide her delicate maw, dark lips parting languidly to reveal pearl razors and a long salmon tongue. She had lost many lovers now, Canttina, Ryouta, and the flings she'd borne in the past, most were dead now. How strange, a horrible coincidence that did not bode well for the black beauty. A barren boulder rose up before her, pleading to cradle her rear as she pondered her next course of action. Bunching the muscles in her hind legs, the ebony bitch would leap onto the stone. Petite haunches would lower gracefully to the cool stone, long obsidian banner wrapping itself about her paws as she looked out to the horizon. A cool breeze continued to carry away the mist escaping her leathery sensor, a wistful glint coming to her unique pools. She had seen a night like this before, when she had been but a babe herself. The only night she'd spent with her mother, now but a ghostly figure with a dark brown coat and blurred features in her memory. Against her chest, the tiny skull of a hummingbird stirred in the breeze as it ruffled through her thickening pelt. The desire to find a body, one that would press up against her and sharp teeth to dig into her scruff, alit within her for the barest of moments before fading away. If the opportunity arose, mayhaps. With a soft sigh, the jet furred belle would watch the dark clouds, lit dimly from behind, scuttle across the sky. What to do, what to do.... Speech Thought Others |