Ouroboros Spine opening on the foam

to remember that he once had more than a doe-like tail is painful; like the rasp of razors against his flesh. and that the marauders of arquelion had stolen it from him in punishment forever sits ugly and resentful in lómëvása's chest. as it turns out, the nightingale was not really the forgiving type; absent the saintly tendencies of those stronger and more kind than him.

the sound of approaching footfalls initially draws lómëvása's attention; though he does not turn to face the older man until the soft woof shatters the silence in which lómëvása had been both stewing in and marveling at the sight of the weeping sky.

the pirouette of the stars streaking across the sky made it look as if the sky were crying.

hello, lómëvása greets the other male, failing to recognize his importance in the pack and that he was addressing an alpha ( whoops ). it iz a lovely night, yes? lómëvása inquires conversationally, gesturing with a small motion of his muzzle heavenward where the stars continued to fall.