Glorall

Disaster has struck!
Flooding from the north has taken its toll on Glorall. The large tides combined with the increase in water draining from the Ruieze River has flooded the lower regions of the pack. The sandy soil, compounded with so much water, has toppled a lot of trees. Traveling is difficult even when the water is shallower, with the sandy soil below being difficult to find traction on. The daily tides seem to keep the level of flooding fairly consistent, too.

During the low tide, wolves may be able to move around the higher dunes (with some difficulty) but during high tide, the pack is almost impossible to safely navigate. Swimming is possible, but the risk of currants and surges from either the ocean or the river are very real. The island off of the coast of Glorall is untouched by either issue, although it is incredibly difficult to find your way there without being an adept swimmer with plenty of good luck!

Note: Glorall will reopen once 30 posts have been completed (or at Staff discretion). During this time, new threads will receive a 'Surprise','Disaster', and prizes. Glorall is currently not open for challenges.


THE HERE AND NOWALPHA OF GLORALL
Elohim

Return to Lunar Children
am I a monster when I sink my teeth into her?
IP: 101.181.110.167

He is amused by her. He cannot deny that, not truly at least. Sure, he sees potential for weakness or at least some unsatisfactory merits and yet, she is entirely entertaining to him. There is much to be said about her even after their short encounter and he recalls his grandmother swiftly. There is more of her within his aunt, it seems, than just a name or appearance. Her frustration is not something he sees often. Such anger does not simmer within his own blood or the blood of his siblings, not entirely so and though she may desire to be otherwise, it only makes her all the more of a novelty.

He allows her to exert whatever dominance she may believe she possesses, for he is content in his knowledge of himself and the world they exist within. It is not, however, his blood that gives him such comfort but rather his understanding of his own capabilities. He has hunted and he has killed and so, he knows well enough of pain and its infliction. If she desires to press her claim then he will have no issue meeting it. He does not see the need to, though. He lacks that about himself, a missing piece of his father within his chromosomal makeup.

He continues to watch her with the same amusement, not bothered at all by her posture. Rather, he tilts his head in silent inquisition, curious as to how far she is willing to go to prove her point. Her words might taste like venom but he does not let her sink her teeth in - not yet, at least. Rather, he counters it with a word of challenge. "Then show me." He rises then to take a slow step back, giving her the space she ought to need to pounce upon him like some unchained beast. He does little more than move to cover his throat out of instinct, his eyes still staring into her own as he waits to see how she will take such a thing.

"Dice mihi," he begins simply, his tongue lashing out across his muzzle with hunger, "quod sapor?" Tell me, what is the taste? He wants to know just what a predator ought to feel about his blood and flesh. Does he take satisfying? Does his taste satiate that need for unfounded queenship?


html by dante!



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