grand entrance [story telling + thunderstorm]

[wormwood.]

[glow=#000,1,400]BUT NOW I UNDERSTAND YOU, AND I WILL NOT BE PART OF YOUR DESIGNS — ｡+ﾟ.[/glow]

Wormwood had many stories that painted his golden pelt, despite the fact that he was relatively young for a lion. However, he was sure that none of these stories were as wild and glorious as the ones that Perseus probably had stored in his head and written on his body. Wormwood's stories were, also, never connected to any sort of gods above. Poetking might have believed in a god or gods that had created the land and ruled over all of it's creatures, but he honestly wasn't really sure about any of that. After all, when gods and ghosts and unholy creatures could just walk among you, how were you supposed to just believe that there was somebody – or multiple somebodies – up there actually looking out for you? Wouldn't they stop the horrible things that happened, like Arrow's gruesome death, or Sam being captured? Worm could understand the natural order of things, but he couldn't look at life as them just being the pawns on a chessboard.

Still, despite these thoughts in his head, Wormwood wouldn't disrespect Perseus by choosing not to hear his stories, no matter how farfetched some may seem to the lion's young ears. Instead he just came strolling over calmly, his wings tucked against his back as he sat down on a patch of dry land. If his eyes had caught on to the thunderstorm crawling through the sky far above, he probably wouldn't have even left his house, the thunder and lightning drudging up bad memories and making him shake in fear as he thought of Vathmos. However, he didn't see them, and instead just sat and said with a smile, [glow=#793B29,1,400]"I'd love to hear, Perseus."[/glow]