| Outcast atk: 9 | def: 10.5 | dam: 2.5 |
| Stallion :: Pegasus :: 16.2hh :: 8 HP: 61.5 | Buff: ENDURE |
| Gaz |
The wind whipped in violent spirals across the Steppe, raking with icy fingers across the half-melted snow and screaming across the thrashing waters. Murdock stood with his back to the sea, unable to watch the way the dark waves rolled and crashed against the ice. They were like hungry wolves, struggling to crawl onto the land and reach for his legs to drag him under with the tide. He hated the vastness of the ocean, and in a way it had always frightened him. The sky was his home, although on this day even the heavens would cast him down to remain grounded.
His head twisted back over his shoulders, casting a final wary glance back to the grey body of the channel. The sky was hardly any more appealing, with angry clouds blotting out the sunlight and bringing the threat of rain even closer. Turning back toward the infinite expanse of white land, he set a steady pace toward the mountains, making his way cautiously across rough ground. Downy wings were clutched tightly against his dark sides, as the warm days of Tallsun had left his coat short and thin, and it did little to shield him from the cold of the north. Still, despite the bite of the icy wind, the Steppe filled him with a numbing chill that he found almost comforting.
He turned his head at the sound of light footfalls, coming to a halt as he searched for the source of the sound. Emerald eyes found the delicate figure of a young mare, her pace swift and purposeful as she strode toward him. A hesitant smile hovered upon his lips, but it faded as his eyes took in the tinge of red on her ice blue horn. Blood. His brows furrowed slightly, muscles stiffening as he looked down to the metal wolf at her side. The skillfully engineered canine was unlike anything he had even seen before, and he couldn’t say he was fond of the vicious way it regarded him.
His expression soured slightly, his face shifting into a frown as emerald eyes returned to the smearing of blood across her brow. He had taken lives before. He had killed, but it had all been in the line of duty. He was a mercenary, a warrior; it was what he was trained to do. But this frosted angel? What had she done? Her gaze was wild, animalistic and untamed, as though she had lived her life alone on these ice-scorched plains. Just who was she? He didn’t bother to ask, but instead twisted his body so he faced her head-on. Pale wings remained folded tensely against his side, his curled tail sweeping about his lower legs in the powerful breath of wind.
His ear twitched as her calm, level voice reached him, but no expression was visible upon his face. His eyes were empty, his mind thoughtful as he watched the young mare. “Didn’t your mother teach you not to talk to strangers?” He responded coolly, studying the young girl’s face. She was not much younger than him, but still he would not let her looks deceive him. Her eyes held malicious intent, though her words were harmless, and he smiled to hide his doubt. “Perhaps, yes,” he would ask no questions of her, demand no answers. He had to tread carefully, as it looked as though a simple wrong word could send her over the edge.
"talk talk talk"
Wind me up, put me down
Start me off and watch me go
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Image Credit
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[O] Blood Stains on the Snow [Snö, Open]
