Bloodfeather || Adna ||

[Wolfbane]

ALL THE DOUBT YOU'RE STANDING IN BETWEEN

Large as it is, word still travels fast in Taiga. New horses arriving the closer winter gets, new foals on the ground before the first snowfall, new life that’ll come around when Spring thaws them out. Somehow, amidst all the turmoil and negativity, these redwoods are echoing again with laughter and vigorous activity. That alone served to soothe Wolfbane’s manifold concerns over the coming seasons. His grandmere Heartfire hadn’t left this forest on good terms with his wife Lepis, and though his duty is always to his family - the one he’s created by choice, not the one he was born into - Wolfbane felt an aching chasm in the center of his chest over their actions.

He’d been mulling over the situation and spending his time carefully with Celina, his newest fledgling. His daughter was bold and exceptionally beautiful, haloed in the soft light of glowing insects that gave shimmer to her white coat, and she was just as ferocious underneath it all. When playful, Celina would flash her gums to show her father predator-type teeth. Bane loved those most of all, so much so that he took to wearing his old fangs these days.

The narrow, slender curves of ivory bone jutted down from either side of his mouth and rested on his chin. He liked the feel of them there, how they felt like something he’d been missing for far too long, and while Wolfbane patrolled the more barren sectors of his home he tongued them appreciatvely.

A scent caught his attention: the stallion whuffed quietly at the roots of one massive tree and took off in a literal blur of motion. The prehistoric ferns waved gently when he passed through them, unbroken despite his speed, and Wolfbane stopped just as quickly. His tail blew gently to one side and then fell again, as still as the rest of him while he peered into the faint darkness. “You didn’t want to stay with Vulgaris and Leliana?” He asked knowingly, wondering if the mare he’d found recognized him at all.

His past is hazy and blurry, but the facts remain. Once this horse was with them in the Pampas and, as a child, with Vulgaris and her mother in Loess. Bane remembers that much even if … Adna hadn’t. Adna. That was her name, wasn’t it? Or was she Sabbath? The last children he remembers out of the viper stud were Chronos and Larke, forever ago.

If he’s patient enough, Bane's sure he’ll find out.

WITH WOUNDS THAT NO ONE ELSE HAS SEEN

WOLFBANE

@[adna] ooc: he's very good at smelling, but if I took any liberties and you want something changed please let me know!

[adna]

one touch will make you so nervous you might stop breathing
one touch will make you so reckless you might start feeling
one touch will finally show to me what you can't hide

She remembers him as she remembers all figures from her youth.

The blurry outlines and the hazy shadowy faces of them. She remembers the vague colors of him, the idea of him really, and she finds that it barely snaps into place when he makes his way toward her. She is standing in the forest, as she so often is, feeling the peace that comes with the shadows when they make their way around her. Finding the peace that comes from being alone—from finally being in the quiet.

He comes quickly but she doesn’t startle.

She tenses, perhaps, but it is low and steady, her nostrils flaring, her jaw unclicking, her vision switching to thermal. It makes her face a little colder, a little more predatory in the angles, and she is slow to smile, her lips spreading in the corners, her fangs just barely hinted at behind velvet lips.

But he uses her parents’ names and she finds that it both soothes and riles her.

Her jaw clicks together again as she clenches it, the muscles rippling underneath the scaled surface. “I think adult children should strike out on their own eventually, should they not?” Her voice is even and calm, despite the tension she might feel underneath—but she has no desire to delve into personal manners with a stallion that she barely knows. She has no desire to dive into it with anyone at all.

So perhaps she feels a little surly, a little bitter, but she just keeps it at that.

Purposefully, she shakes her mane out, letting the curls of it fall down either side of her neck and then stretches slightly, enjoying the way the tension eases slightly. Then she settles back down again.

Her smile calm, her gaze just a little calculated.

ADNA