cinder
burn baby burn
She was nearing two this year and almost full grown. Winter had made her put on quite a bit of weight in fur and it added to her bulk; her body as masculine with a broad chest and thick, shorter legs, yet her face was extremely feminine with edgings and grooves that were lovely despite the constant pained look on her face. Running was not her forte despite doing it just now and her body felt the effects of it. She would never be able to flow naturally with the wind, a sprite of nature, but always battle against the elements with sheer brawn. Sometimes she wonders what her father looked like, for the only thing that resembled her mother was her face. Then again, even that memory was hazy now as time slipped inexorably by and the distant memory of even having a mother faded.
It can be understood, her need for something comforting and familiar. She has been cast adrift in a world that didn't much care to have her, so full as it was from the other wolves that populated Molodian. No one knew her. No one cared. If she died only Myra and Sciathan would weep and that made her insanely furious. Steel blue eyes lifted slowly from the winking view of the sea to the pale, slate gray sky about with accusation. How dare the fates set her up for this. How dare they snatch everything, one by one, from her grasp. How dare they take the hearing of her only sister. How dare they exist period!
So immersed in her loathing Cinder is blind to the approach of the dark wolf. It is a folly to not pay attention. The male could be coming to kill her and yet Cinder would laugh in that scornful way if he did for she would think it fitting. Fitting that her life should begin as a means of rape and end at the fang of a loner. Yet he pauses a good distance away and she spins to face him with a fearsome snarl, flashing her pearly white teeth and glaring at him as if he were the devil.
Yet Iscariot's voice was friendly and his demeanor not that of one who wished her harm so her fluffed fur begins to lay back down against her spine and her lips cover her teeth although she remains watching him with a suspicious gaze. Jaded, yes, she was jaded.
"You could say that.. or a rough life, but who really cares anyways?" Her voice is derisive yet it is aimed inwardly rather than at him. Slowly her eyes peer away from him to glance back at the sea before snapping back, making sure he hadn't moved. "Are you from there?" She gestures with her muzzle to Glorall, an almost wistful note in her voice, ears pricked now in concentration because maybe he could tell her how it was.
(female) (one) (37' 166lbs) (spirane) (soulless/heartless)
ref image: http://i58.tinypic.com/14e1fua.png
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