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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


    hard candy dripping on me / femur & any
    #4

    LONGCLAW

    -I close my eyes, ignore the smoke-

    How odd. He’d dreamed of balmy days returning to these shores, green eyes focused on Tephra’s distant horizon while the speck of her gold-patched form waited for him; dreamed of returning to her, to home, and yet - here he is, watching the glide of her neverending legs as they pass one another to lead a stranger into their home.

    Longclaw can’t seem to find it within himself to be disappointed by these turn of events. He switches skins, only because the longing to be near her outweighs his dislike of being wolf, and slips between the fingers of shadowy foliage to intersect the two mares on their way in. He never worries for Femur (never worries about her, either) because there’s never anything to worry about, but this lagging character she’s brought along with her is an object of pointed curiosity for him.

    Claw surmises that his interjection could fall under the category of “Guard Duty”, so he winds craftily along with a sharp nose to guide him until the clatter of their walking seems nearby. For his own sake, he trades bodies. The soft glint of his blue fur and the matching fangs that glide over his lower lip suit him; Longclaw feels like himself as he brushes past the cluttered branches and slinks out onto the worn trail. His vivid gaze flashes in the near-dark, a reflective shimmer giving him a wild look as the lowering sun flashes over his face.

    “Making new friends?” He calls out, the hard line of his mouth pulling itself into a sly smile. If it were anyone but his Femur, his Ghost-Girl, he would never move forward like he does now to close the distance between them. He assumes, anyways, that she won’t leave him to walk the entire way himself. “I wasn’t aware I was so boring.” The lean stallion teases, diverting all of his attention to focus solely on the cherished planes of her familiar face.

    And then his eyes are jerking up, peering back, to where the second mare follows. “So, should I blame you for keeping her away too long?”

    [Image: sScEgld.png]


    Messages In This Thread
    RE: hard candy dripping on me / femur & any - by Longclaw - 11-22-2017, 02:06 PM



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