am i the wolf or the savior?
is my smile too sharp or just my teeth?
is my smile too sharp or just my teeth?
“It does.” The butcher drawls, continuing down the path as he scans for any movement, the tension ticking away in his spine. Its tension that remains despite the way Danta’s hands brush across and squeeze his shoulders, Asta’s tail curling a touch as he loosens the breath trapped in his lungs. A low hum escapes him as he slows his pace a small amount so the blonde doesn’t have to trail him.
Humming a note of agreement, dark eyes scan the rippling water from the edge of the Glade, the sound of leaves as the wind brushes through their branches, cascading orange and yellow leaves down around the grasses that sprout along this path. It’s a deer trail they find themselves on, following along it in the hopes that something catches his sight. “It was so much easier to manage when we had criminals wandering the Inner Quarter.” He whines quietly, dramatic despite the truth to his words, trying to give the air of effortlessness before a twig snaps and he tenses up immediately, twisting to peer through the bushes. The dark dappled hide of a stag seems to pause with the moment, and it’s that particular moment that the butcher easily and with well practiced movements, slips the bag of metal blade bits off his belt to hand to Danta, sinking down into his fyrhund shift.
Once he’s fully shifted, he pinpoints where the deer has moved before he launches himself toward it in a chase.
Humming a note of agreement, dark eyes scan the rippling water from the edge of the Glade, the sound of leaves as the wind brushes through their branches, cascading orange and yellow leaves down around the grasses that sprout along this path. It’s a deer trail they find themselves on, following along it in the hopes that something catches his sight. “It was so much easier to manage when we had criminals wandering the Inner Quarter.” He whines quietly, dramatic despite the truth to his words, trying to give the air of effortlessness before a twig snaps and he tenses up immediately, twisting to peer through the bushes. The dark dappled hide of a stag seems to pause with the moment, and it’s that particular moment that the butcher easily and with well practiced movements, slips the bag of metal blade bits off his belt to hand to Danta, sinking down into his fyrhund shift.
Once he’s fully shifted, he pinpoints where the deer has moved before he launches himself toward it in a chase.
Astaroth
come a little closer
