Post by L A C H on Mar 8, 2008 18:41:33 GMT -5
Moved this thread because Absinthe wasn't posting. Also, because Ryu requested..
Loneliness swathed the naked trees just as tendrils of black depression extended across the woodland floor. Stray ribbons of rare sunlight, the richest and sweetest tint of scarlet, snaked idly between tress and striped the trunks garnet, the last not yet chased away by the impending night. Where these final cherry streamers went jagged across the pebbles that lay strewn in a path, a lost beauty washed the shadows that only wished to supersede. Day still left his weak crimson trail, but night was enveloping the forest like invasive vines of sinister obsidian. Darkness, like ice, was draping the land in cruel splendor.
In the noiseless serenity of this wintry sunset, the reaping shadows hushed even the lone owl and the screeching raven with its swift claws. This dark haze blurred both sound and sight across the terrain; the shapes of the birds taking flight distorting to appear as but flitting darts against the grey clouds, and the vaporous silhouette of a wolf warping into that of a wraith stealing across no man’s land. The lupine ghost, much like his avian counterparts in the sky, cut through the gelid winds with aerodynamic elegance. He streamed across the land as if the earth was a river, carrying his paws with the current. Pouring himself fluidly, the pewter speckled phantom discovered elation as he ran, his long ivory fur windswept into a mess of silver and shadow as air filled his ears.
Springing, gushing forth like the turbulent spirit the adolescent was, Starling smoldered a feline prowess. He decelerated to a luxurious jog, the cat-like movements surfacing with each restless toss of his plume until he found, at last, a charming perch under the guise of a plain boulder. Leaping up with convincing agility, the muscles in his hindlegs strained as his forepaws lifted and landed (if his fleet footed and light step could be considered grounded in any way) atop the large rock. Lounging atop his new throne, the yearling kept his crown lifted with poised alertness and a formless impression of aristocracy. Not pretentious or snooty by any stretch of criticism, Starling merely held the manners of the sleek yet innocent and almost childlike.
Panting noiselessly, his rosy tongue (of which its color complimented the hues of his eyes), protruded only slightly from his velvet maw. Starling’s pearly set of fangs, sultry although part of his overall juvenile appearance, glittered in the penumbra that eclipse but half of his body and face. The other side of him was instead illuminated by blotted glimmers of the moon, his silky pelt tipped with lustrous milky starlight. The yearling did not produce any evidence of a dim mind, but instead haunted the area with an eerie young loveliness -- seraphic under the luminescence of a vivid imagination.
Loneliness swathed the naked trees just as tendrils of black depression extended across the woodland floor. Stray ribbons of rare sunlight, the richest and sweetest tint of scarlet, snaked idly between tress and striped the trunks garnet, the last not yet chased away by the impending night. Where these final cherry streamers went jagged across the pebbles that lay strewn in a path, a lost beauty washed the shadows that only wished to supersede. Day still left his weak crimson trail, but night was enveloping the forest like invasive vines of sinister obsidian. Darkness, like ice, was draping the land in cruel splendor.
In the noiseless serenity of this wintry sunset, the reaping shadows hushed even the lone owl and the screeching raven with its swift claws. This dark haze blurred both sound and sight across the terrain; the shapes of the birds taking flight distorting to appear as but flitting darts against the grey clouds, and the vaporous silhouette of a wolf warping into that of a wraith stealing across no man’s land. The lupine ghost, much like his avian counterparts in the sky, cut through the gelid winds with aerodynamic elegance. He streamed across the land as if the earth was a river, carrying his paws with the current. Pouring himself fluidly, the pewter speckled phantom discovered elation as he ran, his long ivory fur windswept into a mess of silver and shadow as air filled his ears.
Springing, gushing forth like the turbulent spirit the adolescent was, Starling smoldered a feline prowess. He decelerated to a luxurious jog, the cat-like movements surfacing with each restless toss of his plume until he found, at last, a charming perch under the guise of a plain boulder. Leaping up with convincing agility, the muscles in his hindlegs strained as his forepaws lifted and landed (if his fleet footed and light step could be considered grounded in any way) atop the large rock. Lounging atop his new throne, the yearling kept his crown lifted with poised alertness and a formless impression of aristocracy. Not pretentious or snooty by any stretch of criticism, Starling merely held the manners of the sleek yet innocent and almost childlike.
Panting noiselessly, his rosy tongue (of which its color complimented the hues of his eyes), protruded only slightly from his velvet maw. Starling’s pearly set of fangs, sultry although part of his overall juvenile appearance, glittered in the penumbra that eclipse but half of his body and face. The other side of him was instead illuminated by blotted glimmers of the moon, his silky pelt tipped with lustrous milky starlight. The yearling did not produce any evidence of a dim mind, but instead haunted the area with an eerie young loveliness -- seraphic under the luminescence of a vivid imagination.
