02-16-2016, 12:28 PM
everyone i know goes away in the end
It was difficult for him to not show presence, though he had spent many years attempting to do so. He often tried to hide away in the shadows, to cloak himself in darkness to avoid being noticed, but it was always the inevitable truth. He would be seen, sooner or later, and it was undeniable. Though he pertained a certain grace, having walked many moons, his gait was often still weighty, his steps a harsh intrusion on the undisturbed soil, his mass a shifting black beacon in the valley - a sheen of dark obsidian and glowing red eyes - a walking billboard. He was used to the stares. Not of longing, but of apprehension. His sheer mass was the cause for concern by many, though he often ignored them - the slew of scars scattered across his skin were more often than not caused by brutal wars fought in defense, not offense.
He was not one to start a fight, but he would be one to finish it.
He stared, his ruby gaze darkening as he observes the grievous wound shielded away by thick, matted hair. Though Foster's words spoke of strength, the shakiness of his baritone spoke volumes more. He was shaken, this much was certain. He tried to hide the uptick of a smile as he watched him lower his head - this was no time for formalities, not with the blood continuing to trickle and entangled within his forelock. He briefly lowered his own, however, an amicable gesture, before his eyes trailed off elsewhere. He began to search, silently, his muscles shifting beneath his weight as he turns. He steps away as he finds what he seeks, though he casts a brief glance to the gouged, injured male.
"Stay," He murmurs, his voice reverberating deeply within his chest, before he jaunts away from him.
He moves towards the foliage, striding to an old oak. He surrounds it, muzzle pressed flush against its bark as he searches for what he needs. At last, his teeth graze along a loosened strip, and delicately, he pulls, drawing it away from the flesh of the tree. He clenches it tightly between his lips before making his way towards the male once more, observing him as he does. He surrounds him, much in the same way that he did with the leaning oak, falling parallel with the one called Foster. "Lift your head, and sit still," He instructs, awaiting his moment before placing the intact slice of bark across his eye with some (truthfully) painful pressure. "This may sting, but it will soothe. It will stop the bleeding."
And it does. In time.
He steps back then, sidestepping his massive form to more a more appropriate distance for a stranger. But he did not consider him a stranger; he was a brother in need.
He had been there himself, many times.
"Call me Offspring."
offspring
Don't apologize, @[Foster] is fantastic.
