Our skin gets thicker, living out in the snow
CREVAN
He’s been here for close to a month and he’s just now hearing about the plague. How messed up was that? Crevan assumed that everything was the same; he’s lived through a Beqanna natural disaster after all (which is no small thing) and came out just fine. Nothing bad like this ever happened here and despite that, it was happening anyways. How could he be so naive?!
“Thanks, see ya.” Crevan nods stiffly, a curt farewell to the horse he was passing and had stopped to chat with. Several travelers could be found along the southern route that wound beside the River, heading to different destinations and generally keeping to themselves. That particular stranger had seen him coming and paused to warn him about Pangea.
“Pangea? What Pangea?” The muddy-colored stallion had questioned, taking his companion by surprise. The conversation turned from friendly warning to serious history, then. A dark land had risen and brought sickness to Beqanna apparently, infecting anyone and everyone it came into contact with. The dark territory was a surefire way to catch a cough if one was trying to avoid being ill, and after conversing for some minutes Crevan knew instantly that this was his desire: to be plague-free.
Give him a physical enemy any day of the week and he’d go at them, but something you couldn’t sense or see coming? Fuck that, thank you very much.
Now, however, the passerby was already disappearing into the distance, and Crevan continued along the beaten trail before shaking his long, navy-colored forelock out of his eyes to think. He’d been too exhausted from Amet’s suffocating nihilism to transform back into a wolf but he felt better now. Maybe a good run through the Forest would help clear his mind? Smirking to himself, the shapeshifter inhaled and let go of his control, surrendering to the other spirit that made him part predator, beginning the transformation.
When he exhaled, the world seemed a tad bit larger but the wolfskin he wore felt much more natural. He blinked and crossed his eyes; a stubborn, blue forelock still hung limply from the crown of his forehead and cascaded over one side of his off-white snout. “Great.” He muttered. Guess the nihilism hadn’t completely worn off yet.
@[Kerrigan]