An outline of frosted breath is darkened as the wide white moon hangs low, pregnant with the threat of early winter snow. Epithet draws a breath then exhales as she stands as a bull elk with a heavy head full of thorny spikes. She finds this form comforting and shafe despite the distant how of hungry wolves. She is far too old to fear any other creature for there were few that could overtake her.
One legs lifts and falls, toes splitting wide on the frozen mud, as the bull walks. Epithet releases the echo of a shrill elk's scream as a massive plume of frosted air surrounds her in a haunting outline. There were not many creatures who dared stir and it is understandable. They were smaller and more vulnerable than the shapeshifter. In the instant of her will, the white mare sheds the antlers as they fall off an away, the skin splitting and shattering at her feet as the grey mare walks from the wreckage of the pelt, disregarding the blinded eyes where she had once gazed from.
Sometimes the mare was tasteful in her shifting and others were dealt with as she had just exhibited. On a night as so, she does not shiver or shake in the chill, but wears it like a queen's cloak. Epithet was an old mare in that of a young one's body. She walks like an earthbound goddess with slow, deliberate steps. A single ear twitches when the howl of the wolves echo against the naked trunks of sleeping trees but it is the sound of a snapping stick that rips her attention back and over a single pale shoulder, dark eyes narrowing in response.
Very few have ever surprised her like this.
The mare prepares to split her skin into that of a grizzly or sabre tooth tiger (she has been around for a rather looong time) but instead allows what ever is just beyond her eyesight to show itself. The pallid hued mare freezes, watching, ear flickering and tittering as she deciphers the hypersensitivity of the situation by scent and sound.
One legs lifts and falls, toes splitting wide on the frozen mud, as the bull walks. Epithet releases the echo of a shrill elk's scream as a massive plume of frosted air surrounds her in a haunting outline. There were not many creatures who dared stir and it is understandable. They were smaller and more vulnerable than the shapeshifter. In the instant of her will, the white mare sheds the antlers as they fall off an away, the skin splitting and shattering at her feet as the grey mare walks from the wreckage of the pelt, disregarding the blinded eyes where she had once gazed from.
Sometimes the mare was tasteful in her shifting and others were dealt with as she had just exhibited. On a night as so, she does not shiver or shake in the chill, but wears it like a queen's cloak. Epithet was an old mare in that of a young one's body. She walks like an earthbound goddess with slow, deliberate steps. A single ear twitches when the howl of the wolves echo against the naked trunks of sleeping trees but it is the sound of a snapping stick that rips her attention back and over a single pale shoulder, dark eyes narrowing in response.
Very few have ever surprised her like this.
The mare prepares to split her skin into that of a grizzly or sabre tooth tiger (she has been around for a rather looong time) but instead allows what ever is just beyond her eyesight to show itself. The pallid hued mare freezes, watching, ear flickering and tittering as she deciphers the hypersensitivity of the situation by scent and sound.
E P I T H E T
@[Firen]