Luneshale Pass Doors opened - Printable Version

As bats wove their nocturnal tapestry through the whimsical hues of twilight and the sun descended with a graceful sigh, cradling the world in the embrace of slumber, Machiavelli prowled the lowlands. The journey had commenced at dawn, a silent stalk through sands and scrub, fueled by an unwavering purpose—a quest for botanical treasures.

His quest had driven him toward water, and the pass it sculpted, tracing its banks with a discerning gaze for flowering shrubs and clay deposits, each holding the promise of future utility. Thus, his evening unfolded—bobbing and weaving between all of the interesting things that had captured his attention.

When the day's enchantment waned and the notion of rest tiptoed into his contemplations, Machiavelli altered his course homeward. Pretty ideas of future projects pirouetted through his mind, and he intended to savor the luxury of daydreaming all the way home. However, the delicate sanctuary of his fantastical musings was abruptly split by a cacophony of ear-shattering barks.

An annoyed expression etched across his fair features as he surveyed the surroundings, only to soften into a mildly irritated countenance upon identifying a familiar impish figure frolicking in the distance.

Only after the first syllable of her name escaped his lips did he realize his mistake. The scent was not hers, but that of a stranger. Who was his entertaining acquaintance's doppelganger? Machiavelli gracefully pivoted on his heel, leaving the serenity of his path to venture toward the unknown.

Nails clicked on the glimmering earth as he navigated through the pass, bathed in the radiant glow of mica-laden surroundings. The shimmering particles caught the twilight, transforming him into a specter—each step a captivating play of light and color on his glossy fur.

The unexpected voice jolts him—evident in the blink of his eyes and the subtle step back, eyes almost aglow in the refracted light. What had been attributed to mere genetic form now unraveled as the lankiness of youth, a boy in the midst of claiming his own body.

A soft curse escapes under his breath as the siren changes once more into a man, the demeanor undergoing a subtle transformation, a shift toward the soft and protective.

Dear me, I must have given you quite the shock emerging out of the shadows like that. Please, my darling, there's no need for apologies. It was I who failed to consider how frightful my sudden appearance might be, Machiavelli reassured, a wave of his forepaw accompanying his words, I should be the one begging your forgiveness.

The boy, although just a child, was still an unknown creature with sharp teeth and a powerful jaw. The man, beneath the veneer of nonchalant care and politeness, coiled tighter than a spring, heart quickening as the stranger leaned near him. His anticipation hung thick in the air, awaiting the sweet eyes to turn bitter, for the endearing nervousness to turn to hostility, and the imminent spill of blood.
It did not come.

Machi's eyes were the first to return to the stranger, his crystalline irises conducting a swift and discerning scan from head to toe before his head followed suit.

Ah, leaping into the dance before the music has even begun are we? Machi asked, a playful glint in his gaze. Please, indulge me first, won't you? What moniker might I attach to your most charming countenance?

Oh dear, It was Machi's turn to be confused now, I've upset you again, but I'm not sure I know why, he said, with what could almost be described as a genuine tone, his head tilted thoughtfully to the side.

Rooke is a lovely name, very fitting, I think. He regarded the boy with a discerning glance before speaking again, Where do you live, Rooke? I don't believe there are many packs other than my own nearby. Your family will surely be worried if you don't return soon.