I was born sickbut I love it
As if he heard his name being called, he slinks away from the shade beneath the tree (he moves with a slinking sort of step, his head is low to the ground but his eyes are firmly placed upon the name-speaker, he creeps with a lankiness that somehow looks smooth, his bones are seen shifting beneath his thin coat above its thin muscle). There is a sort of blissful excitement in knowing he is about to stir up trouble (and it sends a creepy smile to his lips), an elation in the knowledge that his thirst for chaos is about to be momentarily quenched.
Although they might be just getting ready to depart, he approaches in such a direction that inhibits that motion (he saunters in from an angle that can cut them off should they wish to bolt, he slinks in like a hungry cougar coming for its prey, he comes to a stop just in front of their exit). His bruised eyes immediately latch onto the silver bay (their coats mirror each other slightly – perhaps the trickster’s base layer is what covers the younger, but the elder is also riddled with scars and lightning strike markings and his unique blue and white, blue and black eyes).
He has yet to meet any of his own offspring, despite the immense number that roam the lands. His head tips to the side like a confused kitten (but his mouth keeps that smirking smile, his lips still peeled back to reveal teeth stained a faint shade of pink from a midnight meal, his eyes unwaveringly placed on the silver bay stallion) and he gives an odd chuckle. “If I found out just what, exactly?”
LOKII
