WOLF CHILD, ROSE HAIRED
The lake was always a solid bet, when one wanted to get away from something or someone. In fact, Denocte offered it's citizens just about every liberty to slip into the shadows and simply be. Though that isn't why Renwick picked his way down to the large mirror like lake, that day. The wolf is running because he can, because there are no chains on his feet and he can feel the sun on his back without a cause nor a care. His hooves are the thunder often heard over head, in the eye of the storm as the lightning howled and the thunder roared. They struck the ground, over and over in a war beat as he went. The wind pulled at his hair, pulled and pulled until they threatened to unseat the flowers who clung desperately to those messy ombre strands of his. These spring days are the best, where the world is once more coming alive and the birds sing overhead. Here he can wrap himself up in the freedom and reverie that he knew and loved, the Wolf Knight, rose haired and wild. Denocte had it's own share of problems, they knocked at the door, louder and louder each time. There was no ignoring them, not forever, like you might ignore an innkeeper who rattled on the room door after a particular hard night. No amount of gold coins poured into empty pouches could stave those kind of visitors. Renwick hoped, at the very least, if they had to take up the mantle once more — that they would at least hold a festival. War was a bitter and painful thing, low morale made for poor warriors and a discontent nation. It'd be so long since he'd ran at another, eyes wide and nostrils flared, the grin on his face filled with the exhilaration. Such was his speed, that he nearly missed the figure in the spring grass, who walked considerably slower than Renwick's racing heart. It's not so easy to slow down, but he managed, haunches tucked as he slid and pranced the last couple of steps into a walk, before he pirouetted to face the smaller Stallion. His barrel heaved and his nostrils vibrated with each lungful of air he sucked in. His hair, which had flown like banners in the wind had messily flopped back around his neck in chaotic waves, messy, lazy and tangled around themselves as they hung down to his knees — desperate to try and make themselves presentable in the next breath of wind. "Hello friend," He greeted warmly enough, moonstone eyes bright even in the spring sun. "I've not seen you around these parts before, what brings you to the lake?" Renwick prided himself on at least knowing the majority of the Night Court, at least it's prominent members. This slender and slight fellow had not been at the meeting held by Reichenbach as far as he could remember, and he didn't smell of foreign lands. Not the sandy perfume of Solterra, or the sweet notes of Terrastella, where their healers smelled of herbs, or the earthy smell of Delumine with those scholars and their books. THERE'S TWO SIDES TO EVERY STORY
BUT I DON'T KNOW HOW THIS ONE ENDS
YOU WANT FIRE AND YOU WANT GLORY
BUT THERE'S A STRUGGLE THAT LIES WITHIN
TAG: @Erum
NOTES: hopefully you don't mind me tossing Ren at you! <3 |
