February 09, 2025, 11:42 PM
ximena moves with the wind, not against it. It whips through her fur, catching the scent of blood and warmth clinging to the fresh kill held between her jaws. the hare swings slightly with each step, its lifeless weight nothing to her, a mere trophy of her efficiency.
she had not sought company when she climbed the butte—only vantage, only solitude—but as her golden eyes flicker across the peak, she finds it occupied.
rhe storm-watcher stands rigid, braced against the elements like an unyielding monolith. she studies him, the tension in his frame, the way he drinks in the vast sprawl below as if the world itself is waiting to bend to his will.
interesting.
she does not announce herself immediately. Instead, she approaches with deliberate ease, her posture that of a creature at home in her own skin, in the wind, in the stillness between them. only when she is near enough for the weight of her presence to be felt does she finally drop the hare at her paws, the soft thud swallowed by the wind.
a silent offering. or a challenge.
ximena tilts her head slightly, lips curling—not quite a smile, not quite not. she does not ask what troubles him, nor does she seek permission to exist within this space. instead, she simply watches, waiting to see if the storm will break before her—or if she will have to step into it herself.
she had not sought company when she climbed the butte—only vantage, only solitude—but as her golden eyes flicker across the peak, she finds it occupied.
rhe storm-watcher stands rigid, braced against the elements like an unyielding monolith. she studies him, the tension in his frame, the way he drinks in the vast sprawl below as if the world itself is waiting to bend to his will.
interesting.
she does not announce herself immediately. Instead, she approaches with deliberate ease, her posture that of a creature at home in her own skin, in the wind, in the stillness between them. only when she is near enough for the weight of her presence to be felt does she finally drop the hare at her paws, the soft thud swallowed by the wind.
a silent offering. or a challenge.
ximena tilts her head slightly, lips curling—not quite a smile, not quite not. she does not ask what troubles him, nor does she seek permission to exist within this space. instead, she simply watches, waiting to see if the storm will break before her—or if she will have to step into it herself.
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Messages In This Thread
the terrible shadow - by Rusalka - February 09, 2025, 05:28 PM
RE: the terrible shadow - by Ximena - February 09, 2025, 11:42 PM
RE: the terrible shadow - by Rusalka - February 22, 2025, 07:23 PM