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Ruieze Fields
Open fields and soft grass...
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| sorcierfour ❧ no heart ❧ lost soul ❧ taviora |
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When Sorcier had taken his slouched rest beside the pale wolf, he hadn’t realized how quiet and peaceful this spot was. It was far enough from the rest of the world, so it would seem, to not be blemished in the rough play or events of others, but it was still close enough to where it held an aura of what home would feel like. It was a place that brought much comfort to him, easily detected as he finally pushed out the burdening oxygen that weighed on his lungs as if they held the weight of his troubled mind as well—and he was at peace with his surroundings. He could feel his heart grow warm rather unexpectedly, to which caused him to turn his head to the side and be met with the gaze of the female. The sight of her eyes was so unworldly that his ears perked up high, defining how surprise had taken hold of him. Surely, Sorcier had been told of the strange wonders that his eyes had on other wolves, but for the first time in the male’s not-so-long life, he had been outrivaled. Capsules of violet irises were littered with glints of emerald and orange shards—something like a mosaic for those who could only decipher the mastery of such crafts. Feueraugen, “une avec le feu dans ses yeux”—all meaning one thing, “one with fire in his eyes”; this is what they used to call him from lands that were estranged to Moladion. Sorcier couldn’t help but wondered what they would have called her, they being the Elders who had raised him up until a year ago. Sorcier wasn’t entirely savvy with descriptions, or giving out titles to others like his Elders were, but he knew that she would have been graced with something far greater. When her charcoal dusted muzzle neared his own, the male wasn’t entirely up to par with the greeting, though he wasn’t one to react out of disrespect. Not completely aware of the traditions of the female, he had no desire to offend her either so when the contact was made, Sorcier’s ears folded against the crowne of his skull in a manner, whether that would be seen by the female or not, that expressed the yearning that he was conflicted with to be close with her as his muzzle brushed against the side of her own. The sound of her voice was something that was as small and sweet as her exterior had provided to him, and to this, Sorcier felt a greater sense of delight. Ambrosia: a word that could have been created to capture her in the wake of her beauty, but nevertheless, it was surely a fitting name for her. Though, now realizing that it was now his turn to introduce himself, the male’s tone was something that was like the bellowing groans of trees in the dead silence of the forest—something that was soft spoken in the wind—but this was simply the way that his words seemed to carry themselves. “Ambrosia, I am Sorcier.” The greeting was quick, something the male was notorious for, but he found his voice carrying out more to speak. “I’m not entirely sure how I ended up here, but now.. I’m not too concerned on finding my way back.” His gaze fled back to the lake, allowing his message to be one full of mystery as to what now kept him here, for it could be several various things. It was a funny thing now that he thought about it. Feeling lost on the inside is what caused him to venture out this far, but now that he was lost to his surroundings, lost to these fields—he felt more balanced with himself and the male was just beginning to think that it might not be because of the change of scenery. |
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