I am your darkness, I am your desire, I am your nightmare wrapped up in fire
Those bloody red eyes lifted at the sound of another’s approach, the black mask of her face turned upon the girl whom came forward atop the salted sand with a tail that spoke of good intention and indeed, perhaps it is for this reason that Riven holds her ground and remains where she is seated. The other young female demands nothing of her save for this momentary attention and as such the bloody-eyed girl turns her gaze upon the water once more, her white and red form seated silently atop her black stockinged limbs with an easy neatness that betrayed the touch of truly fine breeding as she consumed her thoughts with the water below in the pale glow of the moon. The sound of the Glorall girls words see those sharp ears prick once more, twisting and turning with each measured sound though indeed it is the language of her frame to which Riven responds first, the words unspoken saying far more then those that are offered, the white girl shaded in black given to raise herself slightly for the other does not hold herself so and within all things there must be a leader, if this one will not take up the mantle then Riven shall do it instead. It is a simple action, free of threat or malice, no more then a single gesture of sorts, a lift of her frame in a manner almost subtle as the other moves to look upon her reflection before meeting her gaze as speaking once more. She understands what is said, for Riven has walked amongst those whom speak, yet she herself is hardly given to utter a word, she finds distaste within it, speaks only when she must for indeed she is born of the wild most truly.
“Looking. I…looking…at Riven.”
She answers both questions in one, the words jumbled together for in this she is unpractised and yet the sweetness of her tones is luxuriant in itself, like dark silk upon the water as her gaze remains on the other. She is older, taller and yet she is weaker, of this Riven is sure- yet she is assured to that even this weakness has place. The world is made of strong and weak and this cannot be changed. She has her place, as do all. She allows a momentary wave of her own tail, the long, thickened plume given to lower in a peaceable gesture, offering permission for this other to approach her for indeed, despite her upbringing she is given to hold great interest in other young wolves, she seeks them, desires their presence and company and is content to allow the girl near. The second female to arrive however causes her form to stiffen as her muzzle lifts to the air, scenting her in the moments before she appears beside the other and indeed within this moment the black masked girl is given to grow….weary in a manner, her own heckles given to lift ever so slightly, revealing the russet hue they hold as she does so, stepping back in these moments. This other is…more dominant and this gives rise to a wariness within the creature as she moves to perceive the language unspoken once more. She knows little of pack and of boundary, yet indeed such things are instinct inborn and they demand caution. If there are two…there are surely more and the yearling is aware of her own meagre strength- yet seems she will test it still.
Her ears are given to lace backward in this moment a gesture of…insecurity, perhaps, as she moves to regain the ground she has lost, taking a few strides forward, testing the dark female with the blue eyes. Of Cersei she is more assured and content with, of Maradona she is unsure and as such seeks an answer to such a thing. She must know where she stands and though the other has at least a year more of growth upon her there is a boldness and assurity within the daughter of Tobias. She does not lack self-preservation, as does her sire, her moths blood having armed her with sense, yet there is enough of The Prince within her bring forth a determination of sorts, a certain manner to her walk, a bold authority that she will seize readily upon unless made to understand otherwise. It is simply the nature of wolf- the way she has been taught and as such she closes the distance between Maradona and herself readily, those long black limbs halting upon the earth as she moves to mimic the posturing of the other, white lips pulling back from equally white fangs as she faces the other, the dare is clear. She is testing the other, seeking to discover whether she is above or below her. It is a simply query, a test, for there is no anger nor hate nor attempt to kill within her actions. She simply does as instinct demands, seeking that Maradona take up this gauntlet, else lower herself and back down to the yearling girl.
RIVEN
1 Year || Mate to None || Imprint of None || Tobias x Flare |