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+--- Thread: Ankyra Sound death-pale regrets (/showthread.php?tid=66409)
death-pale regrets - Astier - October 06, 2025
Beneath the waning light of dawn, something stirs against the shoreline. The sea breathes him out like a forgotten secret, foam clinging to fur, salt staining skin that once belonged to the mountain’s cold. A specter reborn upon the sand. The wound along his right flank, long since sealed, glimmers faintly under the sun’s pale caress; a relic of violence past, when fang met flesh and the cougar’s roar faded into silence.
A low, ragged cough tore through his chest, scattering the rhythm of the waves. How long had it been since the darkness took him? Time, in its cruel indifference, left no answer. Disoriented, the wraith lifted his head, water trailing from his muzzle as the brine-heavy wind filled his lungs. The scent of kelp and stone, familiar, hauntingly so, wrapped around him like a memory half-remembered.
Another breath, another cough, and he forced his limbs beneath him. Muscles trembled with protest, yet will alone pushed him upright. With a sharp shake, droplets flew from his coat, glittering like shards of glass in the morning light. He had never been fond of water; it clung too closely, seeped too deep, and spoke in a language he could not trust. The sea might have spared him, but he would not linger to test its mercy twice.
His gaze, pale and cold as polished steel, drifted across the empty horizon. The north stretched before him, bleak, beautiful, and merciless as ever. There would be time to wander its frozen veins, to recall the names buried beneath the snow. Then, perhaps, he would turn south once more. For now, he walked; one ghost returned to a world that had already forgotten him.
RE: death-pale regrets - Lucette - October 06, 2025
The pale wolf was a ghost in the sound, one she did not recognize. A threat, perhaps, and so Lucette shadowed his steps. Whether she was welcomed here or not, she would allow no harm to come to @Sobeille or her brood.
Who be you?Lucette called out, voice cutting starkly through the misty morning air. She stood unmoving, green eyes sharp upon the pale stranger. The venom of her gaze demanded answers.
RE: death-pale regrets - Astier - October 12, 2025
The silence of the shore was split by a voice, sharp and venomous, cutting through the fog like a blade. From the haze emerged a figure painted in red. Her eyes, bright and burning, fastened onto him with the precision of a hunter, the kind that saw weakness long before it was spoken. Still, Astier stood unmoved, the cold autumn wind threading through his pale coat as invisible claws. Only the faintest narrowing of his gaze betrayed thought, calculation.
The rhythm of his steps slowed to nothing, paws sinking slightly into the damp earth before he turned to face her fully. The ghost tilted his head, one brow arching in quiet, almost amused regard. „I might ask the same,” came the low reply, voice smooth yet edged with frost. The shoreline, from what he knew, was untaken, wild, claimed by no soul. And if fate had thrown his body upon it, well… he owed no apology for surviving.
His gaze, glacial, dissecting, traveled from her crown to her paws, studying the crimson stranger as one might study a riddle written in blood. „There is no need for hostility,” he murmured at last, the faintest echo of a smirk ghosting his lips. „I am merely passing through.” Even so, he did not hurry to leave just yet.