AESIOR OPHELES
✯ — got spirits in my head and they won't go
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Short would the long wait be cut, lengthy legs of prime predator reaching stickier legs of smaller predator, a second smaller body not near to the others, a fair distance across and away. Gathered upon his limbs, sniffing his way amongst tall grasses and brittle brush, would the gray-tan coat of ticked tabby mute blend in. Searching the roots for sweet herbs he would gather for his own uses, being stowed within slight pouch upon his hip. Within laid various objects, bags made of bladder and skin to store within seeds and roots, foraging for the makings of a small garden. Upon his ears would brush the sound of far away laughter and words he could not make out.
Rolling his shoulders as curiousity filled him, small blooms if daffodils appearing amongst sparse greenery against his fur, meaningless small speckles of white and baby blue petals much like a bleak sky filling empty patches upon greenery. Stretched the limbs of the grim as he stood up and made his way across the terrain to the duo upon the border. Tipping his head at the sight of the angular face and scars covering flesh, he bowed his head in a wordless greeting. Before him was a warrior, a man who had seen enough battle to no longer know if he was the one to make use battle or if battle was the one to make use of him. Coming closer, he kept distance between the one who had earlier sought him, his eyes curiously glancing over the albino before him as the sun played with the sky, the foreign lover as it was. He could not speak to the tom but he was curious and he had unspoken questions. He could make use of a garbled sign language, one that few knew, or he could utilize his notebook nestled with his pouch.
As he looked between the two, small sprigs of tarragon would come into fruition, the scent of the herb subtle against the flowery hint of daffodil. shielding his eyes against the sun as it grew and brought with it it's fiery light, warmth so lacking for early hours. strange was he within himself for the plants that lived and died within his shoulders fur, most connected to his emotions of strong import. Gaze switching to Mercury as he spoke words of asking the other's business, his own gray eyed gaze would find the sheathed dagger at comfortable rest against Vincent's side, his ears perking up. He was no proper blacksmith but he knew when to appreciate a gilded work even worm with age and time. They all had stories to tell, the strong and the weak, the lonely and the accompanied - his was a story he had interest to begin to learn.
daffodil - I have questions
tarragon - curiosity/of interest
Rolling his shoulders as curiousity filled him, small blooms if daffodils appearing amongst sparse greenery against his fur, meaningless small speckles of white and baby blue petals much like a bleak sky filling empty patches upon greenery. Stretched the limbs of the grim as he stood up and made his way across the terrain to the duo upon the border. Tipping his head at the sight of the angular face and scars covering flesh, he bowed his head in a wordless greeting. Before him was a warrior, a man who had seen enough battle to no longer know if he was the one to make use battle or if battle was the one to make use of him. Coming closer, he kept distance between the one who had earlier sought him, his eyes curiously glancing over the albino before him as the sun played with the sky, the foreign lover as it was. He could not speak to the tom but he was curious and he had unspoken questions. He could make use of a garbled sign language, one that few knew, or he could utilize his notebook nestled with his pouch.
As he looked between the two, small sprigs of tarragon would come into fruition, the scent of the herb subtle against the flowery hint of daffodil. shielding his eyes against the sun as it grew and brought with it it's fiery light, warmth so lacking for early hours. strange was he within himself for the plants that lived and died within his shoulders fur, most connected to his emotions of strong import. Gaze switching to Mercury as he spoke words of asking the other's business, his own gray eyed gaze would find the sheathed dagger at comfortable rest against Vincent's side, his ears perking up. He was no proper blacksmith but he knew when to appreciate a gilded work even worm with age and time. They all had stories to tell, the strong and the weak, the lonely and the accompanied - his was a story he had interest to begin to learn.
daffodil - I have questions
tarragon - curiosity/of interest
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THE FLOWER BURNS