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    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


    deep roots are not reached by the frost ~ any
    #6

    Crevan

    We forget all the names that we used to know

    Crevan has always been a sullen sort of child. Interested in neither conversation nor friendship, the young wolf has grown up in the shadow of his mother’s watchful eye, and with pricks of disdain from his elder twin. It has made him, more or less, a hermit. But, his return from the otherworld of his nightmares has sparked a desire to change this - and Merida is the perfect candidate to test those poor social skills on. There’s something about the upturn of her mouth that continues to amuse him; Merida is clearly overcompensating and though Crevan is unsure why (there’s nothing special about him, from his perspective at least) every snide remark and ladylike gesture of her body excites him.

    His tail thumps pleasantly, “No other shapes for me,” tilting from his lips as the two gaze at each other, mirror-like in their posture. “though I can do other things.” He offers. A feeling of exhilaration shoots through him now at the prospect of showing her, he’d never kept an audience before. His mother would say it was rash, to go about divulging one’s powers to stranger’s curiosity - “Fuck it.” Crevan thinks. He was his own man, was he not? He could decide for himself; Merida was good people, shifter, kin. It was all the reasoning he needed.

    Rousing from his limp position, his head rises on stately shoulders, mute eyes alighting with fervent excitement for the show he was about to put on. Those strong, pale legs beneath him push him once more into a sitting position while his tail curls firmly over the ridge of one hip. A final glance in Merida’s direction - he smirks - and then his skull is tipping back, ivory eyelids closing over a sorrowful gaze while his lips split apart, curl over teeth to form a loose ‘O’, and then he is moaning. The howl rattles deep in his gut, builds in tempo, and hangs on a low, mournful note before bursting from his throat. With it, fire leaps from his tongue, his mouth, to plunge spear-like into the crisp air above them.

    A hitch; the note drops, crashes, and with it the fire too snuffs out. Swallowing, the shifter returns his attention to the perched she-fox. “Fire breathing. More of a party trick than anything else.” He grumbles shyly before stretching out flat again. “Tell me more about you, please!” He whines, the loneliness of a youth spent nearly alone finally building in his chest. “Where are you from? Do you want to meet other shifters, like me? What’s it like to be a fox?” He rushes, breathless from his earlier display and the curiosity of meeting her. Crevan could stay like this all night, if Merida wanted, simply staring and trading questions.

    It’s the first solid company he’s ever wanted.

    Then our skin gets thicker, living out in the snow



    omg he thinks he made a friend .. poor Merida. lol
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    RE: deep roots are not reached by the frost ~ any - by Crevan - 08-24-2017, 10:40 AM



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