the consumption of his thoughts are not enough to bewilder him against necessary instinct – and it isn't long before his nerves are screeching against the sight of -quicksilver, a ghost! is he not?- a pale man, not quite silver, but suspect. erasmus searches face in the swift seconds that linger like breathy silence between them, a loitering awkwardness that threatens to become intensity if allowed to persist. yet those eyes were not the same blue. those features were not the same angles. and his expression – “odd time for a stroll.” one ear flicked forward, another flicked back. the shadow draws across his brow, but in the faint starlight and the wolf's talent for nightseeing, he sees an expression that is something other than monstrous. it is tired, sunbeat, a few scattered scars finding place along the sharp bones of his cheeks. a more observatory glance, and he admires the tapestry of further scarring, but keeps himself from looking too long. he regards the man in silence. “the capital's that way.” his nose is thrown past erasmus, and he narrows his eyes before he turns slightly, keeping the stranger in his peripheral.
there is no way. though he has never stepped foot into the day territory, he had studied a map thoroughly before he had set out. he knew better than to traverse a desert scape with nary a mind to where he was going, in such a ruthless biome that offered death at every mistake. no. he was headed north. perhaps he was pointed northeast now, but he was certain of it. wasn't he? raum was a shapeshifter. was he not? perhaps he smelled denocte on the boy's flesh like potpourri and incense smoke, the scent of meadows and lingering brine, glacial air of the mountains. perhaps he knew, heard him coming, and the changeling shifted into the likeness of this weary thing who sought to confuse and disarm. why this of all things, however? there were more things to become, much more terrifying things, much more concerning things. things that could tug at your heartstrings, things that could rattle your bones and dishevel your dreams to nightmares. no. doubt prodded the thought.
erasmus beheld him still with his skull at a tilt, no longer in his peripherals but an eye wholly selected eik with a curious glance as the direction of the capital was set aside. did the man think that he was searching out denocte, so far away?
or had he really been so distracted by his mind and the perils presented that he wasn't truly pointing northeast, but pressing on to the southwest?
his eyes narrowed again, but not with skepticism. He huffed, something of a breathy chuckle, though his expression remained unchanged – stoic, cold, riddled with a many things that danced behind the warm lap of gold in his gaze. “I was on my way to the Plains," he lied, though made no signs of ill honesty - and also not daring to provide any information to a stranger. “Is this not north?" A rugged, albeit suave voice possessed of smoke and shade, it perused syllables with the ease of a scholar, but the brute-ish brunt of a soldier. It was older than he, held a brooding so unlike the youthful features he kept, tempered with an agnostic display of trust.
He held his peace until the shadow he had seen before fell over the ripples deep in the canyon, skimming over their treacherous plates as something glided overhead. Something... large. Instincts again, he pressed quickly to the canyon wall, his eyes struck to the proprietor of the shadow, almost expecting Isra's dragon – but it was feathered, beaked, and talon'd, all the while just as if not more concerning a sight. He remembered the phoenix he had seen in the Arma temple – and while this held a similar predatory aesthetic it was much more ugly. brown barred and blue-beaked, the thing was prehistoric and gruesomely looming, passing over with the grace of a vulture. “what - is - that?" he hissed to the pale stallion as the monstrous bird flew out of sight of the canyon crags, though didn't dare move until he had an answer.
there is no way. though he has never stepped foot into the day territory, he had studied a map thoroughly before he had set out. he knew better than to traverse a desert scape with nary a mind to where he was going, in such a ruthless biome that offered death at every mistake. no. he was headed north. perhaps he was pointed northeast now, but he was certain of it. wasn't he? raum was a shapeshifter. was he not? perhaps he smelled denocte on the boy's flesh like potpourri and incense smoke, the scent of meadows and lingering brine, glacial air of the mountains. perhaps he knew, heard him coming, and the changeling shifted into the likeness of this weary thing who sought to confuse and disarm. why this of all things, however? there were more things to become, much more terrifying things, much more concerning things. things that could tug at your heartstrings, things that could rattle your bones and dishevel your dreams to nightmares. no. doubt prodded the thought.
erasmus beheld him still with his skull at a tilt, no longer in his peripherals but an eye wholly selected eik with a curious glance as the direction of the capital was set aside. did the man think that he was searching out denocte, so far away?
or had he really been so distracted by his mind and the perils presented that he wasn't truly pointing northeast, but pressing on to the southwest?
his eyes narrowed again, but not with skepticism. He huffed, something of a breathy chuckle, though his expression remained unchanged – stoic, cold, riddled with a many things that danced behind the warm lap of gold in his gaze. “I was on my way to the Plains," he lied, though made no signs of ill honesty - and also not daring to provide any information to a stranger. “Is this not north?" A rugged, albeit suave voice possessed of smoke and shade, it perused syllables with the ease of a scholar, but the brute-ish brunt of a soldier. It was older than he, held a brooding so unlike the youthful features he kept, tempered with an agnostic display of trust.
He held his peace until the shadow he had seen before fell over the ripples deep in the canyon, skimming over their treacherous plates as something glided overhead. Something... large. Instincts again, he pressed quickly to the canyon wall, his eyes struck to the proprietor of the shadow, almost expecting Isra's dragon – but it was feathered, beaked, and talon'd, all the while just as if not more concerning a sight. He remembered the phoenix he had seen in the Arma temple – and while this held a similar predatory aesthetic it was much more ugly. brown barred and blue-beaked, the thing was prehistoric and gruesomely looming, passing over with the grace of a vulture. “what - is - that?" he hissed to the pale stallion as the monstrous bird flew out of sight of the canyon crags, though didn't dare move until he had an answer.
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