soldier keep on marching on; any

[Dayé]

when i run through the deep dark forest long after this has begun,

He looks at her like he knows her.

Not in a way that was in familiarity, or recognition, but nearly as if in impassivity. His dark eyes caress the hardness of her features - the parts of her that are equally sultry and fierce, unruly and elegant - and there is indifference she finds settling in the sharpness of his alabaster cheekbones. Dayé does not find his loose stare unsettling; if anything, it is something that she finds natural and without abnormality. His openly staring invites her to do the same (the wolf guides her, leading her to immediately size up the presence before her and take in each muscle and sinew, study each part and be ready for a fight), the blue-gold of her eyelids folding slowly over nutmeg irises, white-lashes brushing against her cheeks.

He is placid in every way, allowing the wolf-woman to stalk ever closer with poised steps, enraptured and cautious all at once. Her own coffee-colored eyes unabashedly click carefully over each part of him - the great wings that are loosely tethered at his shoulders, their massive expanse tucked neatly into folds a top of the silver dappling that clings to his haunches and broad shoulders, effectively reminding her of the moon she so often turns her chin towards. 

Silence has long since enveloped the two strangers as Dayé draws the length of her golden-blue legs directly before him. Ivory tendrils of her forelock tumbles across her face as her chin presses gently to her chest, eyes still taking in every inch of the stranger of a man before her. A soft huff of breath leaves her pale mouth, the warmth spreading around her face in a visible cloud of vapor. 

Hurricane.

The word immediately brings memories of her childhood. Of dark, stormy nights that are riddled with howling, screaming winds and rain that never ceased - of gusts of air that ripped palms from their roots and slammed them against the dark-sand beach, where her mother and father had taken her to hide amongst cave and damp stone, to shelter the storm for hours on end. 

She knows what a hurricane can do.

There is an amused tilt to her slender head as her fierce gaze meets his unwaveringly, the silence growing palpable with their closeness. 

“Are you a hurricane?” It’s a question that rolls from her tongue, though her rough and wild voice remakes it as a challenge. “Like I am a wolf?”

Dayé

where the sun would set, trees are dead, and the rivers were none.

@[Hurricane]
Same! <3 Please forgive her for being strange. :| And for not replying with her own name, cause she sometimes forgets and needs to be reminded that it's a normal thing to do.