Many wolves looking for relaxation come to Blossom Field. A gentle breeze vibrating the blossoming flowers is quite a sight to see and it is quite a favourite for wolves to come with their mates.
A recent fire has ruined the scenery, half the field covered with soot and marked with scars of the flames. The other half is untouched, however.
IP: 162.156.111.243
Posted on June 1, 2014 at 05:52:17 AM by V A C C A R O
The sky’s veil was suddenly suffocating. Great shrouds of the ash grey expanse press downwards. Today, there is no opening to the heavens, but only a heavy ceiling. And within its cage, Vaccaro strained and stormed against his restraints: a wild and exotic creature not meant to be oppressed. His paw pressed against the delicate slumberer’s flank; every ridge and bone prominent underneath her silken coat of cream. It was then, as his massive, robust paw made contact with the stranger, that Vaccaro knew. And that knowledge was held in the suspenseful blushes of wind, in the electric air and the sudden and absolute increase of… DANGER. For it was very clear to the young titan that the unceremonious bundle of mocha locks at his paw was something much more… intangibly precious, but so vulnerable. He should have realized then that in sleep the stranger was an enigma. Every feature having been coaxed into the serenity of sleep - there were no traces of past on her brow. Where she might be as delicate as her body implies, there was also the chance that she would be harsh and crude. He should have realized it. Had he not watched a dull pattern unfold before his amber eyes, Vaccaro might not have given her two possible personalities - he might have accounted for one other, and infinite possibilities within this very special one. The same breeze that had struck the male upon contact appeared to breathe animation into the small wolfess. Every instinct he had, each one pushed assumptions to the front of his mind; each of these pushed him equally hard in the wrong direction. It was like stepping stones. Vaccaro had misjudged the first leap and each leap after was off balance… no rhythm, no pattern possible to be deciphered. She threw him. Slowly, fluttering lids revealed dark tan gems. The patterned canine had expected surprised, startled - aggressive even. When an innocent gaze regarded him calmly, he found that his insides thrashed, both from a strange anticipation and an uncomfortable self-consciousness. Coffee cream eyes - they were so frighteningly blank - managed to emanate something… all Vaccaro knew was it was full of a bizarre clarity, as if she’d somehow striped him of his past and laid the articles on the ground in plain sight. When her jaws parted in a blustering yawn, the carnivorous lupine couldn’t ignore the impression that she was a void, not empty but full of the meadows and streams, as if she was essence itself. Sometimes you dream of a moment, you beg to nobody in particular, plead that it might happen one day. And when it does you find that you are utterly unprepared. Odd, because it’s already happened, ten, twenty, thousands of times in your mind. The problem is that only when it really happens do you realize how very important it is. Perhaps he had stopped dreaming, but apparently by no means had his far off wonders been lost to the boy’s whirlwind of a mind. There was something “off” about the fae. She moved robotically and without the lupine grace that was expected of a wolf. Her lack of weariness was a death wish here. As far as he could tell the cream coated spirit was as green as a pup. Balance off, she tipped clumsily into his forelegs. Vaccaro found himself frozen as stone; he couldn’t shake the feeling that between his two paws there was something so breakable but so valuable: he mustn’t move for fear that his dulled and “refined” manners might wreck an abominable havoc upon one so alien. After what was a few seconds of almost intolerable anxiety, the girl rocked back onto her haunches. Puffs of grey fluff from the dandelions billowed up around her. The sight was so harmless that despite the grave mood in his eyes, Vaccaro felt his lips twitch into a slight smile. It vanished when she squeaked loudly. Stomach lurching, the canine resented the exposure - he couldn’t understand it (or her) but as sure as his paws were upon the ground, it wasn’t safe for her here. It was easy to start a conversation with a normal wolf - mostly because the exchange didn’t interested the russet splashed brute. Now however, he found that his throat was overly dry. Every phrase felt dangerously wrong, unsuitable. With her tail flopping to the side along with her head, Vaccaro met her stare with a guarded distance. It might be her defences that were blown open but it was his insides that felt hopelessly visible. He wasn’t sure what to say. Civil circomstances demand that he ask if there was something wrong, if he might help. But there appeared to be suspiciously little that was troubling the fae. He might introduce himself, but after her few moments of demonstration he had serious doubts as to whether she would find any use for this information. Utterly confused but determined, Vaccaro settled for his acquired apologetic and submissive self. I’m sorry I woke you. It looks as if there’s a storm moving in. You might want to find some spot more sheltered than this. |
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