[open] Cut your teeth on this [ANY]

[Longclaw]

Longclaw

Longclaw missed his mother. Rapture too, but that was a given - twins forever, only death could separate them. Wyrm had told him that his spotted mother had come to visit while they bided time in Pangea, before it crumpled inward upon itself and felt the wrath of Beqanna’s true magic. The blue boy had wondered why she didn’t seek him out. He knew, though, that he was as much to blame for not finding her himself. The spotted cat that was his sire had loped out into the waste and he’d stayed put, just as he’d been ordered.
 
Childhood, however, was waxing. It stole his patience, his curiosity bred from joy, and left only boredom and rebellion in its wake. These feelings coupled together and sent him to shifting into his wolf form; a sleek, slender creature of sinew, more height than girth. White and pale on the underbelly with hair spun from silver that blended into his topline. He’d finally mastered the change, with encouragement from dad, but the aftermath was well worth the push his sire had given him. The power of having this gift was useful beyond paltry amusement.
 
His nose, trained now to separate and file endless smells, leads him nimbly through the tangle of bracken and out finally into the Meadow where he is sure to don his regular shape. Out here, in public, it wasn’t safe yet to be his inner self. Wyrm had warned him that he was in hiding and should remain as normal as he could manage until the time was right. So very like his father, to be cryptic and yet specifically demanding. Either way, Longclaw reasons that getting lost in warm bodies is a much better way to spend time than alone under the shade of endless trees.
 
Out here, he shines. The late rays of Springtime sun set his blue-speckled coat glimmering with iridescent hues of gold, green, and bronze. He snaps a few tips of forage as he walks, neither intent on a specific destination nor immobile in fear. Longclaw isn’t like his father, or his sweet sister, or his stoic mother. He’s grown to be almost arrogant and indisputably appealing in that arrogance. Youth becomes him, just as it becomes everyone at a certain point or another.
 
The only thing that he selfishly holds on to are his canines, elongated and yet comfortably visible on top of his lower lip where they rest. Predator or Prey, take your pick.

One-Half contract between Wyrm and Heartfire

[Anastazja]

dreamer, every time you stargaze the whole world is lying at your feet

Her family seem to have dissipated, vanished like the fog over the Taiga does on certain sunny summer days. Fiercely independent as a child, she had somehow become even more so – the disappearance of her parents had not particularly saddened her. She loved them, of course, and felt their absence, but she simply could not feel sadness at them doing what they desired. That seemed to her as crazy as being annoyed at birds for flying, or for trees for growing.

So long as she could do whatever she desired, too…. Which currently seemed to consist mostly of lying under the foliage of the Taigan redwoods, shaded from the sunshine. In her dark nooks and recesses she blossomed like the flowers of her forest; from spindly misshapen child into a woman; though more hard and angular than soft and curved - muscular, not soft, and with sharp eyes rather than sparkling. She was almost the spitting image of her mother, but her mother had been beautiful. She had been graceful, and elegant, and all those other pretty words too. Anastazja had grace, it was true, but it’s more catlike, and her elegance came more from self-assurance than it did from form of figure.

Today was different; the metal-and-cream mare had decided to visit the Meadow – not an entirely unusual decision. Leaving the Taiga behind her, she stuck decidedly on an equine form (though she typically preferred the nimble-footed tigress, the shadow of the boreal forest). She had found that not all horses enjoyed the company of a large predator, and, perhaps, she was looking for conversation this time.

Cautious, always cautious, she wandered through, the scent of horse and rabbit and grass mixing all together, becoming one – her stomach rumbled. And the sharp, familiar scent of something else – wolf. Other than tigers, it was wolves she knew best. The packs that roamed the Taiga were well known to Anastazja, and while they weren’t friends, it was more of a mutually respectful relationship – they all left each other alone.

She followed her nose to young man, by the looks of it – she would peg him to be the same age as her. In fact, she knew he was the same age as her as she had seen him previously, in the Playground. It was him, the sparkly green one, who stank of wolf and forest… And he had the fangs, too, proudly worn on his lips.

Ana watches him, head tilted slightly. She, like the rest of her Taigan family, doesn’t really have the best grasp on politeness, diplomacy – she is not, by nature, a charmer. She is staring. ”Hello,” she says, eventually. ”Do you hunt?” It is not a loaded question; it is said as easily as if it had been an inquiry as to his name. She didn’t know much of social customs, apparently, but she did know that to make friends, to make allies – to share a hunt could be a strong bonder. Her stomach rumbled again. She had not had a companion on the hunt for so long; not since her father had left and her sister disappeared… Not that she truly needed one, she was proficient and large enough to run down rabbits, even larger game such as deer. But she found that she was hungry for company, too.

Anastazja

sorry this is so laaaame havent done words for a while D:

[Longclaw]

Longclaw

In-between the motion of ripping stem from root there is another sound that has one of his shimmering ears tipping sideways to catch the motion of what he knows is approaching footfalls. She’s quiet, stealthy almost; unusual for her kind but she doesn’t draw his attention away from his current preoccupation at first. Not even when she offers a stolid “Hello” for his benefit. It’s only when that pointed, short question leaves her mouth that he ceases all action and stills for a moment. Longclaw’s mouth twitches softly and his eyes glide slowly across the green to where her hooves are planted rather firmly on the ground. His head follows, rising only with his gaze at it travels slowly up the length of her multi-colored leg and over the soft mounds of her chest to come to rest on her inquisitive, open face.

“Only to kill.” He answers in equally short reply.

Perhaps she remembered him (he was hard to forget) but there was nothing left in his memory of the little silver-gold filly that had danced away from the gathering so long ago. He only remembers that there was a butterfly. Those were much simpler times, for a much simpler boy. The wolf in sheep’s clothing is not that same boy anymore. It’s evident in the confidence that surrounds him as he takes a definitive step nearer to her in order to stretch his neck and have his nose hover close to her shoulder. There, he inhales her scent deeply and tastes the otherness to her on his tongue – something close to musky but certainly not dog. His wolf is intrigued.

“Could you keep up?” He jibes, withdrawing casually to settle onto his haunches where he gives her a rather lackluster expression. The pride within prevents him from displaying his inward eagerness at the proposal, but he won’t be deterred on the chase by some rather unimpressive female and her silly games. Still, he supposes he might lessen the sting of his initial approach by offering her something polite in return, “I’m Longclaw.”

One-Half contract between Wyrm and Heartfire

ooc: nuh nuuuuuhhhhh your words are the best <3