11-23-2017, 01:00 AM
He takes comfort in the darkness of night. Although the stars spread their arms wide in the sky (twinkling so far away, casting their dainty light down on innocent heads below, dancing and winding and sparkling), the hazy fog that constantly curls through Sylva dims the stretch of their glow. The trickster finds he enjoys his new home most once the sun has gone down (it looks the most like the Valley, in the period of time between dusk and dawn).
He winds between the tall trees (scarred and marked body stretching out casually), his thoughts a curious swirl of patterns. He has only just recently decided to call Sylva home, but already he is on the track of ideas for conniving and cruelty (as he often is). The trickster can recall many kingdom meetings where he would shout idea after idea (his eyes afire and his feet working divots into the ground) only to be turned down with a shushing look from the throne.
He can tell that might not be the case here.
The grass crunches quietly under his hooves as he wades between the rock formations. They loom amid the darkness and fog like quiet monsters (he wonders, for a split second, what would happen if they came alive). Eventually he settles his lanky frame against the peeling bark of a birch tree, bruised eyes peering into the shadows thoughtfully.
He winds between the tall trees (scarred and marked body stretching out casually), his thoughts a curious swirl of patterns. He has only just recently decided to call Sylva home, but already he is on the track of ideas for conniving and cruelty (as he often is). The trickster can recall many kingdom meetings where he would shout idea after idea (his eyes afire and his feet working divots into the ground) only to be turned down with a shushing look from the throne.
He can tell that might not be the case here.
The grass crunches quietly under his hooves as he wades between the rock formations. They loom amid the darkness and fog like quiet monsters (he wonders, for a split second, what would happen if they came alive). Eventually he settles his lanky frame against the peeling bark of a birch tree, bruised eyes peering into the shadows thoughtfully.
LOKII
@[Thana]
