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Enocra Woodland
Pine, spruce and firs alike...
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It's all so hazy to Vera. Like a lucid dream, only no dream she could really control. She was too far past exhaustion to do such a thing, or even think to do it. The wolf before her is unmoving, and she is not sure who or what he is. Friend, foe. The word Demon still rang in her head, but by the way he was acting.. it wasn't right. None of this was right. Where she was, how she was. With a low growl rumbling within her breast, the black wolf struggled to raise her muzzle up. The sound was not directed toward him, not at all, but who knew if he would know this. Closing her eyes, she merely stayed in her position for several long moments, trying to clear her mind and get a grip on herself. It did not work, and she was proved thus when the stranger broke the silence. His words were wrong, oh so very wrong. No. This was no Demon. This was a strange wolf, one Vera did not know, and it made her weary. He spoke first, and therefore is less superior to her by Demon code, but it is not something that registers at the current moment. Hardly a thing does beside the fact that he is not demon, that he is male, and that he is currently not a threat.
At least, that's what Vera tells herself. That this male is harmless. For, surely, if he had meant her any illwill he would have acted upon such already. He would have lunged and gone for her throat, tearing it out with one easy yank. But he did not. Instead, he stayed still until he spoke. And even then, even after, he remained where he was. He did not move closer, he did not threaten her. It allowed Vera to relax only slightly, but still, as to be expected, she is on her guard. Granted she could not do much in this current state, but she would do whatever she damn well could. He questions her, about dying. The question is enough to cause a raspy, painful chuckle to slip past her jaws. Herself, the flame marked demon of speed and agility, dying? It was enough to cause an uproar of laughter, but the chuckle is all she has the energy for. And even that is taxing. She pauses to catch her breath before uttering any words to the male. Her voice, while usually honey and velvet laced with razors is soft, quiet- weak, even, and it aggravates her to the point of clenching her jaw and grinding her teeth just after. I am.. not dying. No.. nothing close. There are more than a few pauses in her speech as she catches her breath, before still glazed over sapphire irises move up to him, appraising him, judging him, taking him in for all he was worth. She was correct in her initial judgement of him being dark as night, and even upon closer inspection- he holds crimson markings. Who is this wolf she does not know? This wolf of Demon appearance but so obviously not kin? What.. are you? Who.. The speech is draining her reserves more than initially intended, and there is then a very long pause as she regains what strength she has remaining, if only to finish her sentence. are.. you.. for the night is dark
and full of terrors |