Wapun Meadow 고기를 먹고 싶어 샤샤샤

The gentle touch of her cheek against his shoulder was almost foreign; it was the touch of another that had taken him by surprise, but it was not unwelcome. For a fleeting moment, the ashen male craned his neck around so that he could look upon her with his smoldering gaze and breathe. The quiet beauty of her was startling to the nomad. Kierkegaard had traveled a great duration of his life but never before had he come across such a stunning example of what wolves should be. All of the company that he had shared had not shown him such kindness and the warmth of her cerulean gaze was almost like a touch of comfort in itself. Her lack of speech was a blessing on his mind; he did not have to listen to the babbling of a stranger who spoke without the true knowledge of the world. It was as if he were stepping into the winter winds and breathing the crisp air that both shocked and livened him.
 
Nathimmel was not without words, though.
 
The ink-cloaked halfling had come to life at his few words – she darted forward and then back to him, halting so as to raise her tapered muzzle toward the sky and exhaled her voice. There was more expression in the twisting of her limbs and the sway of her heavily coated figure than there were in his entire vocabulary. In many ways, the wolfdog was more than he; she had evolved into something greater than he ever could. There was a fraction of him that was saddened by this. The ghost felt a twinge of melancholy at the thought that a mute had become an unearthly being in her short years, and he had wandered on for ages in hopes of finding the light that she held. The great brute was not one to believe in fates or the swing of the pendulum called ‘destiny,’ but there was a small whisper in the maze of his mind that suggested… perhaps he was where he needed to be. All of the actions that Kierkegaard had taken had pulled him into that singular moment. He could not have stated whether or not he was thankful or wary of such a turn of events. It was only within those past few months that he had dwelled often in the depths of his mind – analyzing everything with pinpoint precision until it ate away at him and all that he was.
 
When the breathy voice had faded and the sharp blue of her vision clung to him, he could not help the flicker of his leathery lips. The soft curl of a smile had almost been forgotten. It was as if his grizzled face had lost the memory of the action and forsaken him. Somehow, Nathimmel had rediscovered it without great effort. A light struck his fiery gaze and he breathed deeply, exhaling through his nares all of the wicked forces that had lingered there. The ghost knew that they would not be gone for long, though. They would return with a vengeance and he feared the ironclad clasp they would have on his mentality. That was the catch; he could abandon the plaguing thoughts for a short time, but they were sure to return with a tighter hold, and he was not certain that he could free himself again. The situation that he found himself in was an odd one. Nathimmel was a momentary light on his dismal state, but he could not ask her to explain to him her nature. He could not inquire how she had become such a pure soul – he simply had to live in that moment.
 
Fastening himself tightly to her shadowy visage, the pallid wanderer moved to close the distance that there was between them. He willed for their pelts to touch – just so that the length of his ragged fur could twine with her feathery tufts. Without the strength to prevent the words from falling from his lips, he peered at her sadly and uttered, “you have found me at a bad time in my life.” There was regret immediately afterward simply because he feared that she would request an explanation. The proof was evident in his unkempt figure. What once had been a powerful form had faded into something much more… tattered.