08-25-2020, 04:55 PM
Argus had a history of healing, in the sparse time between wars: she picked up herbs and had tucked her claws away: fangs only used in the façade of a smile along her maws (small, fragile thing: a smile is). Even then there was a never ending bloodstain along her paws, bloodshed was inevitable. injury was always a certainty- as was death: just for a moment: she refused the inevitable, and healed instead of hurt. It was a glorious time- as backward as the thinking were for her.
There were those that ignored her soothing; ones who wished for the scars of battle to linger on them: Argus saw arrogance in the creature before her, but after a moment of silent consideration she relinquished. It was not her story to judge, and she were not the proper guru to force the other to stand still and listen to reason: just a wonderer for the moment: a wonderer like he.
"[glow=grey,2,300] be grateful you washed on our borders then,[/glow]" Argus rumbled, Tales of Goldie's wrath wasn't unknown. one of the Pitt leader's fell quiet gruesomely, and Argus had half a mind to return just to sooth the desert's lands back into fruition but--- alas: it was not her journey either: that relied on her daughter's shoulders now.
"[glow=grey,2,300] beyond this island is uncharted, and endless sea.[/glow]" Argus finished her warning, her sporadically furred tail swatting behind her as the behemoth moved to a more comfortable position. Wings extending towards the ground as the joints held her frame still. front claws digging into the sand while her left paw moved outwards, open. The gestured wasn't... was an instinct lied in her from. An open invitation.
"[glow=grey,2,300]if you are looking for a home; look no further. Our borders our open, we are small but close knit.[/glow]" Argus welcomed them: and here she would pause, extending a clawed hand towards the stranger, in silent ascendance: she could probably lift him with a single hand and carry him further in, if he needed it.
"[glow=grey,2,300]My name is Argus Mortemm, a wonderer of the coalition of the condemned. what shall I call you? [/glow]" how shall we welcome you? the question was an undercurrent, silent thing but the meaning was still there: in her open body language. red eyes looked on towards the small wounded warrior but a pup, already so wounded, her thoughts were tumultuous, a silent anger and the cause of his injury. He was one of her own now- as every member of the condemned: hers to protect, to give, nurture, care for.
There were those that ignored her soothing; ones who wished for the scars of battle to linger on them: Argus saw arrogance in the creature before her, but after a moment of silent consideration she relinquished. It was not her story to judge, and she were not the proper guru to force the other to stand still and listen to reason: just a wonderer for the moment: a wonderer like he.
"[glow=grey,2,300] be grateful you washed on our borders then,[/glow]" Argus rumbled, Tales of Goldie's wrath wasn't unknown. one of the Pitt leader's fell quiet gruesomely, and Argus had half a mind to return just to sooth the desert's lands back into fruition but--- alas: it was not her journey either: that relied on her daughter's shoulders now.
"[glow=grey,2,300] beyond this island is uncharted, and endless sea.[/glow]" Argus finished her warning, her sporadically furred tail swatting behind her as the behemoth moved to a more comfortable position. Wings extending towards the ground as the joints held her frame still. front claws digging into the sand while her left paw moved outwards, open. The gestured wasn't... was an instinct lied in her from. An open invitation.
"[glow=grey,2,300]if you are looking for a home; look no further. Our borders our open, we are small but close knit.[/glow]" Argus welcomed them: and here she would pause, extending a clawed hand towards the stranger, in silent ascendance: she could probably lift him with a single hand and carry him further in, if he needed it.
"[glow=grey,2,300]My name is Argus Mortemm, a wonderer of the coalition of the condemned. what shall I call you? [/glow]" how shall we welcome you? the question was an undercurrent, silent thing but the meaning was still there: in her open body language. red eyes looked on towards the small wounded warrior but a pup, already so wounded, her thoughts were tumultuous, a silent anger and the cause of his injury. He was one of her own now- as every member of the condemned: hers to protect, to give, nurture, care for.