Silver Creek moon dust in your lungs

Ah, she is wary, he thought to himself with the lightest tug at the corners of his lips. The luminous glow of his gaze traveled the length of her frame in a sweep that lasted only a heartbeat before he latched to her face. The stygian coat along his neck and shoulders bristled, as though lit with fire by the light of the stars overhead. The moon glimmered against his inky frame before being concealed by a wandering cloud. Orion blinked wearily in the direction of the she-wolf; he exhaled, and the weight of his breath seemed to exhaust him. Another flash of his lids before he roused life into his haggard body and drew his skull upward.
 
A softer breeze passed across the fine features of his muzzle, carrying her scent with it. The Starchaser allowed the memory of it to linger against the back of his throat before he issued a hoarse bark. He was alive, yes. While the glittering sky might have played against the swarthy quills of his back, he was very much corporeal. Her inhale drew his ears to stand erect atop his crown and the slightest cant of his skull was what met her.
 
Another breath of the gale forced itself against him. An owl’s mournful coo echoed softly to the east.
 
In their standstill, Orion felt the intimate burn of paranoia. The shadowed nimbus tightened his limbs, making them taut. The slate woman had not issued a greeting, and so the wraith crinkled his nose and uttered in a broken growl, “have the Mal’um sent you?” It was the intensity of her stare that rattled him; the glittering of golden lights in her eyes, searching him. He felt as though she could crack him open and dig through his insides. The leering of his former homeland was branded to his soul. Even while she stood so far from him, no hint of aggression in her studious watchfulness, he was gripped by the fear.
 
The haunted call of the owl drifted overhead once more, and then the sound of crickets rose in a symphony of delicate strings.