Law of the Jungle
For Morgana!
Age: IVSpecies: Canis
Gender: MaleSpiritual Rank: Conceiver
Posts: 12 Stones: 142❂ Played by: Ally
Something wild calls you home

Now this is the law of the jungle

Loki ran. His breath came in ragged pants that curled tendrils of ashy-white smoke from betwixt his jaws. The same faint, lingering smoke, like a fire that has been mostly doused but whose embers cling valiantly to life, drifted up from patches of his fur and were whisked away by broad flat leaves, fern fronds and creeping vines as they whipped past him. For a short moment he had thought his pursuer given up, the pause in the rage of her chase giving way to the whispering sounds of the heavy forest around him and his own thundering pulse.

As old and as true as the sky

Labored breathing in staccato opposition to his own interrupted the rhythm of his steps. So no, not given up then. The she-wolf with her midnight points and tail of flowing sea-kelp texture had followed him into the undergrowth, all for the amethyst stone on its woven cord between his teeth. Silently Loki cursed, his own body warning him that he was at the edge of his limits. The backlash of the magic he had attempted to use had hurt him more than he wanted to admit, his singed coat a charcoal testimony to his energy expenditure. His own pace slowed, faltered. He sighed. Stopped. He had to forcibly still the quaking in his limbs from fatigue as he took a stance upon a bare scrape of gray rock that tore a jagged, monochrome scar in the greenery around him.

And the wolf that shall keep it may prosper

Loki turned just as he caught sight of Morgana on his trail. She was in no better shape than he, but she had followed him. The stone must be important to her, then. Lowering his head, he carefully set the gem down upon the rock between his forepaws and it cast a lilac glow upon the white tips of his toes. Molten sun gaze glared resolutely at the slender shape that resolved from the shadows, but the rest of his countenance was smoothed to impassivity. An iron-rich tang marred the brilliant steel and anise of her scent as it preceded her, and he had to resist the urge to frown. Blood. A darker black on her muzzle, only discernible by the glint of wetness...a nosebleed? “You’re injured,” he observed in his coarse tenor, all the harsher for the fire in his throat, “You should rest.” he held his body steady, presenting a facade of strength, but it was the same as the gold filigree framing his eyes and resting like a laurel crown upon his brow--it was a mask.

But the wolf that shall break it must die.


Table © Chickadee for use on Xalypsis only.



Forum Jump:

Users browsing this thread: 1 Guest(s)