08-20-2018, 05:54 AM
[align=center][div style="width:400px; font-size:8.4pt;line-height:1.1;color:#000;font-family:arial;margin-top:3px;margin-bottom:3px;letter-spacing:0px;margin-left:0px;text-align:justify;"]Ears swivelled forward, broad head rising from where it had been rested atop stretched legs. Tucked within a corner of the foyer, rarely did he find need to move beyond, he seemed half a ghost curled into himself, slow raise of his sides all to betray his status as a living being and not a wayward ghost. Upon a frame toned in blue do dark eyes wander, tail giving a half-hearted movement, barely rising from the ground before it is falling once more. Yet this other, a creature wreathed in a smell harsh to the canine, lips drawing back in uncertainty, watching the two interact.
Is he a friend welcome here or a wandered as Deval had been given shelter from the harsh elements?
There seemed no room for such line of thought, indeed there seemed never to be anything of real depths within his mind for it as one for simple structure, catching on instinct and holding there, driven by emotion rather than the structure of word, and so it was pushed aside in favour of action. Lifting himself and taking a few short seconds to stretch out limbs grown numb, annoyance marking a soft growl, he made a slow approach, head lowered as he circled around the room. Ears flattened against his skull and lips peeled back to show teeth gleaming with saliva, yet the slow flick of movement, tail taking a gentle wag though the slight curl to it makes such hard to notice, sway of his body almost masking it for a show of peace. There is no anger in the stance, it is one of playful aggression, head shaking as he dips down into a bow, looking to Blueridge with a gaze touched with a clear question – friend or foe.
Is he a friend welcome here or a wandered as Deval had been given shelter from the harsh elements?
There seemed no room for such line of thought, indeed there seemed never to be anything of real depths within his mind for it as one for simple structure, catching on instinct and holding there, driven by emotion rather than the structure of word, and so it was pushed aside in favour of action. Lifting himself and taking a few short seconds to stretch out limbs grown numb, annoyance marking a soft growl, he made a slow approach, head lowered as he circled around the room. Ears flattened against his skull and lips peeled back to show teeth gleaming with saliva, yet the slow flick of movement, tail taking a gentle wag though the slight curl to it makes such hard to notice, sway of his body almost masking it for a show of peace. There is no anger in the stance, it is one of playful aggression, head shaking as he dips down into a bow, looking to Blueridge with a gaze touched with a clear question – friend or foe.
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THOUGHT GASOLINE WAS ON MY CLOTHES
AKITA. TRAINEE OF THE ROSEBLOODS. TAGS..
⋖↞╾╾╾╾╾ ✦✦✦ ╾╾╾╾╾⋘
⋖↞╾╾╾╾╾ ✦✦✦ ╾╾╾╾╾⋘