when i run through the deep dark forest long after this has begun,
She smells the other long before a figure comes into sight. Dayé is busy listening to her brother’s voice, a gentle hum in her throat as she absentmindedly grooms him, teeth pulling at the whiteness of his upright mane, eyes half-closed with comfort. You lovely monster. Her chest reverberates with the unnatural sound of a pleased growl, her nose wrinkling slightly to reveal teeth as she feigns humility; it may be her half-brother that gave her the compliment, but as her alpha, the comment strokes her confidence. “No trouble, brother,” the wolf-woman replies to the pirate king, though her voice holds a prideful mischievousness that he would easily recognize.
The scent of a little wolf distracts her idly, the gold of a single ear flicking into the direction of where the young pup would soon come from, opening one coffee-colored eye to gaze expectantly. The hum in her throat grows into an interested sort of growl when the sable wolf plops down before them, pressing her chin to her chest to now turn her head towards the canine, mouth champing thoughtfully. The young wolf’s words brings a hint of a smile to Dayé’s lips, a flickering of blue lighting up the otherwise plain yellow gold of her face.
Sawtooth, this is Dayé.
Our half-sister, and like you, a wolf warg.
Dayé cannot help the obvious pleasure that softens the angular planes of her face, her almond eyes electric and tantalizing as she takes a single step towards the sable wolf pup, her nose lowering to reach forward and bump Sawtooth’s jaw gently, her nostrils quivering as she picks up the familiar scent.
Their pack is constantly growing and the sheer thought brings the smoothing of reassurance to Dayé’s soul, both wolf and horse. “Hello, sister,” the wild woman says in greeting, drawing her neck so that her head becomes upright, the haphazard flaxen of her tangled falling into her sharp gaze.
Dayé
where the sun would set, trees are dead, and the rivers were none.
@[Sawtooth] @[Wolfbane]