Cedar Sweep i was born a shot-gun in my hands

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The water is crisp and refreshing as it slides down his throat and dribbles onto his chin. There is a slight sense of wrongness to be without Tapat for the rook serves many roles to his brother: bodyguard, caregiver, brother, advisor but he knows that Tapat will be alright for a few hours. Astik’s worry never fully abates but he trusts that the pallid Larksong will be ok. A chuff breaks his revere and his head rises, droplets of water falling from his chin to splash against his broad chest. His salmon pink tongue draws across his jowls quickly to collect the droplets of water that linger upon the hairs of his chin before he turns to face his company with a curl of his lip and a flag of his tail. A child in the eyes of some Astik may still be but he is near full grown and what had once been baby pudge beneath his dark pelage is hardened into solid muscle. As the growth had been rapid Astik himself isn’t quite sure when he’d become a titan — he only knows that he is. She is a petite thing, he sees, draped in a coat of creamy ivory. She is pretty but best he can tell she is older than him by a few years and she smells of Golden Glade but she does not call to the rook any familiarity. She must be new then, he thinks.

It takes a beat longer until Astik realizes his body posture is still hostile and he relaxes ever so slightly. She may be a Glade wolf but she is still a stranger to him and the titan has an inherent distrust of strangers.

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