Time spins itself into oblivion without caring too much. If you're not careful, it sweeps you up and gives you a false sense of security; carries you along in it's twisted current and spits you out once in a while so reality can hit.
Longclaw droops a rather blue muzzle above the placid, glass-like surface of a stangnant pool and thinks about the places Time has taken him. The few scars along his legs, back, and chest tell their own stories, with his bright eyes catching the most important nick along the base and curve of his neck (Femur had permanently gouged matching holes for his other girls' appreciation.) All of them were met with a fond smile, reflected back at the tall stallion as he peered at his own likeness.
"Getting a bit gray around the nose to be primping yourself, dad." A wheedling sound behind him spoke. Longclaw turned slowly, the curve of his glimmering neck reflecting each glance of light with the flash of odd colors. His son, Wolfbane, stood behind him - younger than his elder siblings and yet, at only a year and half, more appealing than most of them. ("The others were adopted." Claw thinks harshly, "This one has my blood diluting his veins.")
"You should be practising." Longclaw rebuffs, the tone coming out as flat and hard as a stone. He means, of course, that Bane should be out on the shore, flapping those great behemoth wings of his so that he might eventually use his birth-given talent. "Not pilfering around, and certainly not coming here to try and tell me what I should be doing with my time." The warg barks, turning on still-agile feet to face his youngest get.
Seeing the challenge, Wolfbane lowered his masked head and golden ears, but said nothing more. It was almost impossible to talk with his father these days, and though Longclaw knew how much of an insufferable ass he was making himself out to be, he couldn't stop from feeling bile rise in the back of his throat when others started to come around. They were annoying, save his son and mate, Femur. Most had stopped interacting with him before his early retirement, but after the switch Longclaw had been avoided like the plauge.
Anything was laible to set him off.
"Don't sit there and fume, boy." He snapped, "Get to it."
@[Femur]
Longclaw droops a rather blue muzzle above the placid, glass-like surface of a stangnant pool and thinks about the places Time has taken him. The few scars along his legs, back, and chest tell their own stories, with his bright eyes catching the most important nick along the base and curve of his neck (Femur had permanently gouged matching holes for his other girls' appreciation.) All of them were met with a fond smile, reflected back at the tall stallion as he peered at his own likeness.
"Getting a bit gray around the nose to be primping yourself, dad." A wheedling sound behind him spoke. Longclaw turned slowly, the curve of his glimmering neck reflecting each glance of light with the flash of odd colors. His son, Wolfbane, stood behind him - younger than his elder siblings and yet, at only a year and half, more appealing than most of them. ("The others were adopted." Claw thinks harshly, "This one has my blood diluting his veins.")
"You should be practising." Longclaw rebuffs, the tone coming out as flat and hard as a stone. He means, of course, that Bane should be out on the shore, flapping those great behemoth wings of his so that he might eventually use his birth-given talent. "Not pilfering around, and certainly not coming here to try and tell me what I should be doing with my time." The warg barks, turning on still-agile feet to face his youngest get.
Seeing the challenge, Wolfbane lowered his masked head and golden ears, but said nothing more. It was almost impossible to talk with his father these days, and though Longclaw knew how much of an insufferable ass he was making himself out to be, he couldn't stop from feeling bile rise in the back of his throat when others started to come around. They were annoying, save his son and mate, Femur. Most had stopped interacting with him before his early retirement, but after the switch Longclaw had been avoided like the plauge.
Anything was laible to set him off.
"Don't sit there and fume, boy." He snapped, "Get to it."
@[Femur]
![[Image: sScEgld.png]](http://i.imgur.com/sScEgld.png)