i don't eat i just devour,
every one in every hour
every one in every hour
She is curious but measured, and he sits patiently for her evaluation. The flames catch her attention, but his gaze never leaves her softly illuminated face. Cool and clear as ice, her voice cuts across the damp hollow and her question causes the wolf to give an involuntary shrug of his brindle shoulders.
"In a way," he answers, as the flames twist and flair almost playfully, reveling in the attention. "The're always here, like this, even when i wish they wern't."
When I'm hunting, he adds mentally.
There is a pause, and something encourages him to move closer. He yields without much thought; instinct was his only guiding force in these strange days.
With a shake of his thick black pelt, the warg stands, and begins to shift as he does. Paws become hooves, and legs grow longer as the dark body reassembles itself. Most of the details of the shift are veiled by the thick pelt he wears, until the end. His fur was always the last thing to change. But within a moment, even that has had shrunk away, exposing him as what nature made him.
The line of Firens eyes is only just above hers, and from here, he finds he likes the endless black of them, likes the way they reflect his firelight back to him. His mind reaches to brush along her own, this time with intention. He only touches what may be on the surface. He does not hunt for anything she may try to hide, not now.
"Your thoughts are different," he states. He had not yet learned the benefits of hiding such a skill from strangers, even strangers with haunting, dark eyes.
"In a way," he answers, as the flames twist and flair almost playfully, reveling in the attention. "The're always here, like this, even when i wish they wern't."
When I'm hunting, he adds mentally.
There is a pause, and something encourages him to move closer. He yields without much thought; instinct was his only guiding force in these strange days.
With a shake of his thick black pelt, the warg stands, and begins to shift as he does. Paws become hooves, and legs grow longer as the dark body reassembles itself. Most of the details of the shift are veiled by the thick pelt he wears, until the end. His fur was always the last thing to change. But within a moment, even that has had shrunk away, exposing him as what nature made him.
The line of Firens eyes is only just above hers, and from here, he finds he likes the endless black of them, likes the way they reflect his firelight back to him. His mind reaches to brush along her own, this time with intention. He only touches what may be on the surface. He does not hunt for anything she may try to hide, not now.
"Your thoughts are different," he states. He had not yet learned the benefits of hiding such a skill from strangers, even strangers with haunting, dark eyes.
Firen
![[Image: Firen-insane.gif]](https://i.postimg.cc/fL1FKyZk/Firen-insane.gif)