.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
graasvoel
As the spotted mare scrambled backwards, away from his intruding and inquiring face, he sighed slightly. He paused to watch her fumble for a moment, before slowly raising his head and taking a half-step backwards; perhaps this butterfly-winged woman did not need a shoulder to cry on or a knight. His pale ears remained perked as he caught the croaked answer to his question: “Everything.”
His brows rose, black-marked face tilting slightly as sharp raptor eyes tried to look into her teary, lash-rimmed, hazel gaze. “‘Everything’?” his gruff voice echoed, and then he paused for a long moment, body swelling despite the innocent nature of her gaze across his swarthy hide. And then he started speaking once again, “Surely not everything,” his heavy, pale head gestured towards the setting sun that set an elegant blaze to the sky—it was a sunset so lovely that the vulture paused to take it in before continuing, “The sunset is beautiful and you lay in a bed of heather, with handsome company,” a dark lid winked in jovial, flirtatious jest.
But then, his gruff voice become more serious, “I’ve no plans for this evening, if you wish to talk of your ’everything’ that troubles you, skoenlapper.” His thick, forever knotted tail brushed against his thick, ruddy hocks as he glanced towards the wings he had so named her after. “I am Gaal,” the introduction was tacked on as an afterthought—perhaps the woman would be more open to his company if she knew who he was? He sighed slightly, warm breath briefly condensing in the quickly-cooling air as he waited for the spotted lady’s response.
skoenlapper = butterfly
His brows rose, black-marked face tilting slightly as sharp raptor eyes tried to look into her teary, lash-rimmed, hazel gaze. “‘Everything’?” his gruff voice echoed, and then he paused for a long moment, body swelling despite the innocent nature of her gaze across his swarthy hide. And then he started speaking once again, “Surely not everything,” his heavy, pale head gestured towards the setting sun that set an elegant blaze to the sky—it was a sunset so lovely that the vulture paused to take it in before continuing, “The sunset is beautiful and you lay in a bed of heather, with handsome company,” a dark lid winked in jovial, flirtatious jest.
But then, his gruff voice become more serious, “I’ve no plans for this evening, if you wish to talk of your ’everything’ that troubles you, skoenlapper.” His thick, forever knotted tail brushed against his thick, ruddy hocks as he glanced towards the wings he had so named her after. “I am Gaal,” the introduction was tacked on as an afterthought—perhaps the woman would be more open to his company if she knew who he was? He sighed slightly, warm breath briefly condensing in the quickly-cooling air as he waited for the spotted lady’s response.
skoenlapper = butterfly
the vulture feeds while it can
until there's no trace left of man
until there's no trace left of man
@Myrrine
Please tag Graasvoel in all posts.
