Damn.
What the hell..
Seriously?
He had them fanned out, staring at the shoulder and elbow of them, tightly overlapping feathers like a flat, plated armor. The rim of them were a sooty sort of brown that dusted away into a lighter, warmer color. Bit like a hare, or something. ...Ok, no. He did not just compare himself to a bunny, ok? That's ridiculous. They were just, you know, lighter and crap. Paler.
Anyway.
Then there were these dark, espresso brown feathers about halfway down that splayed out like reaching fingers, all sharp-looking. You know, both meanings of 'sharp;' The snazzy one and the bladed one. What? They looked kinda cool. But still.
These were not his wings.
He retracted and stretched, retracted and stretched. Gave them a good flap or two. And not once did they change. Not even a stupid little shimmer. Where the hell was the fire licking the edges? Or the leather of some mythical beast? Or the sharp claws, or the black and sturdy fabric he could fold over him like a cloak? And where the hell was Aleksandr.
Alek?
They didn't really stay side-by-side or anything, so it wasn't too strange for him not to be here. It still kinda sucked though. He'd never tell him that, of course. But he folded his wings in and started walking. Pretty much if there was a forest nearby that's where he'd find him. Alek had a sort of wild side in him, you know. And it sort of preferred the cover of trees and the feel of bark, and probably a good bit of tasting blood. Wild side.
He wasn't really sure if he had a wild side, himself. Sort of just.. tried to keep his brother's in check. Keep him out of trouble and whatnot. Not always easy to do. Alek? No forest here though. Maybe further.
COTY
Assailant -- Year 226
QOTY
"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
any;
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any; - by dominik - 03-16-2017, 12:09 PM
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