The snowfall was light, her eyes becoming distracted by the stillness that was the prelude to his total meltdown of self - all while she spent perhaps two sentences describing to him what it was that had her twisting about in the snow as she had been. Then he collapses and she snaps to look down at his fate-mangled figure in the white fluff that so perfectly simulated the clouds that scraped low over the canopy above them. They are alone here and the silence is suddenly filled with his struggle, distressing her a little as he crawls towards her and the visual of it seeming so wrong for a male so much stronger of countenance. Her brownish black had always seemed a little flat to her, her eyes overstated and marked too-strikingly with the silver discoloration around her eyes and brows. She felt off balance between what Fate had wanted her to be and what she felt of herself. She was never quite groomed out, never quite properly groomed any longer - the salt carried on the wind having a devastating effect on the state of her coat. It is only now, ashore, that she feels that she is clean enough to warrant the usual stares she has caught in passing... And yet this? This was too much.
The amusement boils away from her face and she watches as her startled heart seems to honestly distress him. She cannot understand how simply feeling afraid could alter the well being of this man at her feet - but to see is to believe and believe she does. She tries to answer him, speak lighter, to think better thoughts than the usual ones of fear when facing wolves clearly her superior in size. He speaks again and this time bids her to speak as well - just to speak, not what to say or why. Speak? She tilts her lovely head, long ears splitting direction and lopping over a little as her head tilts strongly to one side. "I do not understand... Please, what is the matter?" She sniffs her tilted head low, brushing the barest tips of the fur on his head with her nose where she can reach with her stretching neck. "I do not know how to help... I am not a healer... Ought I fetch one?" She was becoming more and more concerned the more he seemed to writhe about at her feet.
There is supposed to be some sort of connection between the female and her imprint now, yet somehow Leviathan has fed all that the connection ought to have brought to her right back into him, double its touch over on itself and send all messages back onto her imprint. She feels something, though she does not understand it for now. Perhaps she will see one day that she can tell, like a whisper, that all is not well - and that truly it was not with her eyes that she noticed his desperation. Perhaps she will understand that it is the bond between them - the one he feels with the severity of a cataclysm - that she has determined he is ill.
She pulls away, bemused and now more afraid that she has somehow harmed this stranger with her simple existence with no way to cure his ailment. "I am not a witch, sir, I have no words to cure this... Please, I will find a Magi." She looks about, confused suddenly - by fate? - as to which direction held her pack and the healers this man needed so terribly. She looks about her, hind end circling as she places her long legs in such a way as to protect the man on his belly while she regained her bearings. She was no use to him, even if someone had meant him harm, for she is a creature of flight and almost no fight. Survival is her strength and if it meant that she could not protect him, she was at least that street-smart. She understood odds with amazing speed and accuracy. She would not simply leave him to die unless it was in her absolute interest and it perhaps made her a better person than someone might originally expect from a fightless wolf.
The Obsidian Beauty of Glorall
[ female - two - no mate - ravan's dancer - islander ]