I love the way you rake my skin, I feel the hate you place inside.
Her father, the gift-giver and goat-king, had considered this Forest his. Thus, by extension, it is hers though she brings no gifts of bone and gore to lay amongst the exposed bark of root systems that break through the dirt. Femur digs no graves here, nor sheds a drop of blood for the trees to suck up like life-giving rain from rent clouds of flesh rather than storms. She has heard the tales her mother told as she suckled from the teat, of how Pollock and Sinew had a bond with this land as much as most of them do. (This is, after all, where Sinew discovered the very thing that she’d name her daughter - Femur, after nosing about a tumble of bones from some other beast’s slaughter.)
If she considers it further, she could say this land is as much her birthright as Pangea ought to have been but what the gods make, they also unmake and that kingdom is no more. Just a bit of memory, shimmering like a spider’s web in the back of her brain because all her time has been spent haunting the Forest in a state of perpetual invisibility. It is better to scare them with fanged grins that float up out of nowhere because most of them are too caught up in their own thoughts to even notice her by something as simple as her scent.
Now that she has stepped back a pace from him, she can see him all the better with her black gaze. He is scarred all along his backside and it makes her wonder what he has tussled with to acquire scars in such a multitude and manner. What beasts does he know of? She can’t imagine those came from a bear or a cougar, let alone a wolf or a fellow stallion. Before she realizes it, Femur is inches from him when he snaps his stained teeth at her. His hot fetid breath hits her face and she in turn, wrinkles nostrils and jerks her head back, forgetting all about maintaining her invisibility in the midst of his sudden flash of menace.
Femur forgets that not all of them are tolerant of the things that go bump in the dark of the woods, nor are all of them even the slightest bit scared - like him, pale and scarred and full of snapping blunt teeth. She cannot help herself now that she is for the most part, visible to him and because of it, she lets out a little laugh. “Oops, guess I got too close.” she chuckles, sly as a fox as her black stare meets his red one. Femur ignores the fact that he seems irritated, or in search of something - she’s not quite sure which and it makes no difference to her and her fanged grin.
Femur
@[Gryffen]