Cedar Sweep .not_human

@Grace — sorry for the wait! uni got busy D: <3

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it's easy to forget that war is not a staple in the lives of all, that the bittersweet iron of wolf's blood was unfamiliar to some. easier still when the last such (named and identified) flavour to grace charmaigne's tongue had been that of her frère's – those sampled since were ­strangers, irrelevant enough to be forgotten before their flesh had passed through the ghoul's digestive tract. sage eyes blink slowly, frame shuddering with an inhale as the woman was reminded of how long ago her last proper meal had been. as white lids snap open again, it's to evidence of having been spotted and furs of mottled grey rise along the youth's spine in instinctive rebuttal, skin prickling uncomfortably at the sensation. behind sealed lips, pale tongue runs the length of each tooth in idle contemplation: waiting, to see if gold eye's silent query would be matched with any sort of verbal accompaniment.

 

charmaigne wasn't left to wonder overly long; a quavering call set an end to the quiet stare-down, leaving the pale she-wolf to mull over a feeling that might've been disappointment. ( silent conversations tended to be that much more ­visceral, open to interpretation; she'd have to find someone else in these wilds to play charades with ) – regardless, asking if there was any way she could be helped certainly amused the draugr, eyes sparking with a chaotic light. it was tempting to ask directly for dinner to go, but given that a single nasty rumour could lead to all sorts of luck, the canadian settled for a more roundabout method of hunting – " are any of the clans warring? " the gangly cretin didn't move from her position, rather appreciating the dominant shadow the cedar offered, but hackles settled a little, face adopting a more neutral shade of hollow. ( if nothing else, the russet girl had stroked charmaigne's ego )

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