 Let your nightmares escape your dreams.... Cora Female Age 6 Eyes a light vibrant green 28 in. 110 lbs. Medium sized, towards small. Light, airy, very skinny with a small muscular build. Coat is a brighter mixture of dark cream. Small paws, long legs, rounded shoulders. Generally long haired. Imprint wanted. OOC: Thunderfoot OOC Information: Sample: It was high. It was high, powerful, careful, and at the same time, carefree. It was luscious, a song that was glorious and swift and light. It was beautiful. It tasted fresh and loving. But most of all? It was his. It was not his voice, but it belonged to him. It was in every way his and in every way it belonged to him. And that was the best part. He could see the wind. He could see the air dancing as it flew his way, tracing his legs and feet and kissing the top of his head. His multi-hued chocolate body stood stockstill, listening as the lyrics flooded his auds and engrained the song into his brain. Into his being; his soul. His amber gaze opened, and the wind formed into the shape of a wolf. And she was powerful, careful, and at the same time, carefree. The King woke to the darkness of his den, the light barely flickering on the outside of the entrance. He heard the song in his head, everything that he imagined it to be and more. But he sighed. Because it was gone. His dreams had seemed to take place in his real life, but they were as normal dreams are. Imaginary. A field of paper flowers. The King started to stretch, raise his head and knead the ground with his growing claws. They needed to be trimmed, as they were hurting him when he sheathed them and he walked with them out. The morning rain started to drift into his den, and the warmth in his bones was silently pushed away. His body sauntered forward, and the pale face of the gray sky met his gaze. It was sprinkling. The rain touched the edges of his body and sent pleasant chills through him. The Iberian wolf led himself forward and into the trees, the dark dirt underfoot coated with water. It caked to the bottom of his pads, lacing in and out of his talons. Striker traced himself forward, his stomach still full from the passing hunt. It had worked well, and it brought a smile to his face. He had not wanted food. He had wanted a pack. His thoughts were stalled, however. A low voice penetrated the canopy of deciduous trees, swift and muscular and male. It brought memories of his dream to him. But all the same, they were banished. The King raised his head, the howl a short call that was for him, and only him. And it was from one of his most promising characters. Aindreas and Adara had originally been a gamble; an exchange and a gift from the only pack that was an ally with Moondown. But Striker? He had been even more grateful than his friend could ever thought of him to be. They promised power and security. But other than that? A bond. And before anyone could make a land into a kingdom, there had to be balance. The dull fog of the morning sent a nice breeze through the air, sending the baron towards the call of his brethren. His bodice laced in and out of the trees, the forest starting to thin. And soon, the King was upon him. “Aindreas. I heard your call. What should be troubling you this early in the day?” Striker raised his head. The scent of Moondown was not accompanied by any other. This place was safe, and they were no where near the border. His amber gaze turned from the terra and back to his packmate. Whatever it was, the King could only hope it was not disappointing. Rules were read Word Minimum: 550 Found on Blossom Forest Chatango: xxThunderfootxx **Birthday**: Janurary 31. Thunderfoot May all of your dreams come true. |