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05-14-2013, 07:30 PM
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Her starved state became apparent to him in an instant. When she stood, the dim light seemed to catch on every indentation of her coat. Her ribs seemed to jut out intensely as if they were carved by a hastened hand; her sagging eyes seemed the mark of an exhaustion that the stallion was all too familiar with. He drew closer, captivated by her shockingly delicate demeanor and the curious tone of her feminine, feline voice. So she was new as well, was she? He pulled back his head, lifting his features so that he could better take in hers. His blue eyes travelled along the edge of the shadow he cast in the haze and over her smaller form. He caught sight of the carcass now which gave off such a stench—noted its shimmering blue coated with oils of decomposition and stained with the scent of its own blood. His nostrils flared with distaste, but he said nothing of his disgust. Perhaps to her his braided mane and cleanliness was unappealing. No, he doubted that. With a faint snort, he pushed the scent of wet cat and dead bird from his senses and exhaled heavily. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Donai. I was beginning to wonder if I was the only new recruit in these woods," he commented with a slight upturn of his lips. "I'm no hunter, but I'm sure there is food to be found here somewhere," he added absentmindedly, forgetting to include his own name. He was too focused on her role and how well it matched with his own; that, and the name of the other member of the foothills who he'd apparently never met. Circe? Who was she, someone important? He sighed slightly, feeling once again as if he did not belong in this herd. He could only hope that feeling would fade. It was comforting to know that he was not alone in it, however. Perhaps the two would get along well. But then, as kind as she had been, he saw her shift her balance and move to touch him. His daggers struck the melting ground nervously and he shifted backwards. Perhaps, friendly as she was, she was just a bit too curious. But just as she was, apparently, friendly, he was polite. He stiffened as she drew so close, suddenly frozen and unable to move. He watched her actions play out in a state of primal fear and thinly veiled distaste. The only mark on his coat had been that of a scar— it alone had been enough to put him at ill ease about his neat appearance. As she withdrew her powerful paw, he arced his neck to look at what she had done. The muddy pawprint upon his shoulder sent a shiver through him that was from anything but the rain. He exhaled rapidly, feeling tense and uncomfortable with the sudden marring of his appearance. But there was no way to fix it now; he could only watch out of the corner of his eye as the rain spattered against his once pristine white coat and smudged the mud-print upon his shoulder. Through gritted teeth, he spoke. He was too polite to mention the mark, he only hoped she would realize how uncomfortable it had made him. "Oh, it's nothing," he lied stiffly, betraying his true opinions as he backed away from her. The carcass' stench still haunted him, still reminded him. He shook himself, partly following the shivering twitches that came from the cold and the rain, and partly hoping the dirty smudge might simply disappear. "Come, Donai, let's find you something to eat. There should be plenty of fish in the river," he suggested. He leaned forward to nudge her congenially, but then thought better of it. Friendly as he was, she was still a dirt-covered cat. —  |
