Cut your teeth on this [ANY]

[Longclaw]

Don't be afraid when the night wolves cry,
feast on their bones, suck the marrow dry.

“Brave,” He agrees quietly as Warrick poses his question, “or reckless, depending on interpretation.” The steadfast youth shrugs. Longclaw needn’t turn his eyes above them to see what Warrick envisions, he can feel the fire within. Like a puppeteer, or a budding artist, what forms from the flame is a direct result of his intentions. He could sculpt whenever inspiration struck and never fear losing the grip over his tools; it was the nature of the cursed gift after all. The only limitations he has are the ones he’s set for himself. That, and the ones nature imposes. “Though I wouldn’t have known success, if I never tried in the first place.”

The quip rouses a shadowy grin on Longclaw’s mouth, ethereal beneath the warm glow. His gaze is wandering of its own accord now, bypassing the spectrish outline of his companion’s dark wings and rolling over silhouetted vegetation to rest finally on the great volcano Tephra housed. Against the blue-black sky she was still alive, gurgling molten rock and spitting angry bursts of red-orange sparks. It made the very soil beneath him feel alive. “I guess the same could be said about my prospective achievments here.” He breathes, finally attaching the semblance of an answer to Warrick’s still-waiting question.

The shifter’s attention flicks casually back to his peer, that suggestive grin widening into a full-fledged smirk. “We both won’t know until I give it a try.”

Longclaw