She had never been able to resist the whimsical and bright things of the world. So of course, when the black wolf had seen flickering lights hovering in the distance that were certainly not torches or homes… She couldn’t help herself. It was a dim, barely flickering interest, and she nearly didn’t approach. Didn’t want to see anyone, speak to anyone. She’d come home from the woods, she’d been stopped from losing herself to the dark underground for now. Wasn’t that enough?
The wolf-assassin still found herself silently padding towards the smattering of lights, golden eyes watching warily from between shadows and empty spaces in the trees. She didn’t enter the soft glow from all the strange and beautiful lanterns hung about, didn’t approach a soul. She smelled her family first, the familiar scents of Vervain and Devrum , of Remi and Ronin and.. The jet black wolf shrunk further back into the shadows when her nose honed in on a scent she thought she didn’t have a right to know anymore. Instinct, habit, whatever it was, she mentally reached for a bond that wasn’t there, and her heart lurched with a painful jolt. Silence. She didn’t look for him, didn’t want to see him, couldn’t. Instead she crouched further back into the shadows between two trees, nearly tucking herself into the roots.
The wolf did not shift, wouldn’t draw that attention. Her black coat blended better than her blue cloak, and she could see better, hear better, smell better. She could run away faster.
Her eyes latched onto one lantern that hung just far enough not to illuminate her, but close enough that her sharp eyes could pick out its every detail: she couldn’t tell if it was fabric or paper or smoke, but the lantern was a sheer black, only illuminated by the faint glow of gold within. It hung from a curved post, and it seemed so light, drifting in the breeze like a spirit and only held down by the little string that kept it tethered to that curving post. It held no decorations, nothing to mark it. There was no hint on how it burned, or what burned within it, but she did not move forward to investigate. She didn’t need to know, didn’t care to know. The golden glow within the nearly opaque black was enough for her.
In the empty and lonely silence of herself, she debated leaving. She came, she investigated, she figured out that some kind of excitement was happening - she didn’t care to ask the locals what the deal was. Refused to ruin the festivities for the people she loved.. So why was she here? Why bother?
She lights were beautiful, she supposed, in a dreamy way that reminded her of distant stories full of mythical things like hope and redemption.
ashetta
it's live or die my way.
|
