i have lost the will to change
His call is simply part of the rhythm of his haunting now, just as the slow, solemn weaving jog that he uses to transport himself from the edge of the clearing to his usual stone is. When Reinn and Cvijet still came to visit him each month, there had been a purpose to his actions. His steps had been specially orchestrated in order to invoke a sense of mystery, his wraith like persona used to frighten any frivolous, superstitious beings away, therefore preventing them from interrupting his meetings with the maiden and matron. But at this point, every motion has been reduced to mere empty ceremony and muscle memory. Nevertheless, when he tips his head back, muzzle pointing up toward the cruel moon, which lazes carelessly on its velvet blanket and dusting of diamond stars, he is able to summon and express real emotion through his wild, dark cry.
The cry was originally meant to indicate to his parent and almost lover that he was nearby and waiting for them, but now, like everything about this place, it meant nothing. A moment passed slowly, then another, until they all blended together, as they would forever and ever until eternity. His slowly lowered snout is the only indication in his otherwise emotionless body language that the lack of reply causes him any sort of pain, and even that is imperceptible to an outsider. Rijo composes himself within moments of his near lapse and prepares to wait out the night, his sense of duty urging his vigilance. His gaze of molten gold is blank.
He has suppressed all hope completely.
Therefore, despite the fact that the fickle wind is his enemy tonight, blowing his scent toward the approacher and her own away from his elite olfactory system, he does not start with anticipation when he becomes aware of weak footfalls approaching his location not long after his voice had rang out. Rather, he turns his head evenly, shuffling his long, jetty stilts as to orient himself correctly as to be not be vulnerable to the stranger when she appeared. After this slight movement, all further motion is aborted. The warrior's muscled body is still, and his topaz eyes are utterly detached. When the blonde toned woman stumbles into view, it becomes immediately evident that she is in bad shape. She is both undernourished and in pain, as evidenced by her thin and tattered frame. He stares at her, and she at him, until something in the air seems to change. It is as if her presence manages to crack the iron walls around his heart without any effort at all.
She looks at him as if in askance, her bi-hued orbs luminous as they reflected the light of the full moon. Her dusky head is tilted inquisitively to the side, and her expression seems nearly dazed. She looks so lost, standing in the lighted gap between the deep shadows of two hulking stones, and so broken, that he responds to her wordless question almost reflexively. His lips twitch once before parting, exposing a slight, nonthreatening flash of serrated fang as his words take to the air. “It's not here.” His sentence is entirely enigmatic, and he is aware of that, so he continues on with his explanation without even evaluating her face, which he assumes is twisted into a wondering expression. “Whatever it is you are searching for, it's not here. In this place there is nothing but me, you, and these cold, uncaring stones.” His voice is achingly crisp and almost icy, like a late autumn's night, slightly husky from lack of use, and hold within them absolutely no inflection. Rijo fixes his unwavering stare upon the lithe, wartorn mistress, and regarded her unblinkingly for a long moment as he pondered the current predicament that he has gotten himself into by daring to reach out to this fey creature. Internally, the boy is at war with himself, his sense of self-preservation born of many betrayals warring desperately against the loneliness and vulnerability that predictably pervaded his darkened psyche on the night of the full moon. He has waited, unnoticed or ignored or simply alone, under the steady blackness of this very stone on many nights since that day, drowning in memories. He had never spoken to anyone while attending to this haunt.
rijo|adult|male|heartless|packless
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