Golden Glade die with memories, not dreams

@Reek @Jhala @Feyre

     Embry was quiet, pensive as he sat there, muscular frame erect and dignified. His aureate figure was shrouded in a blanket of thick, enveloping fog that dampened his golden hue to a dimmer bronze. Two sea-green orbs peered through the mist, traipsing along the tree line with self-composed attentiveness. A new chapter of his life was about to begin, one that would both conquer and promote him. He would be surrounded with wolves constantly, a thought that all but lurked about his mind, planting seeds of skepticism with every breath that escaped his lungs. His battered, dishevelled coat was caked in dried blood and bruises, but he assumed an august ambience despite. Ghosts spiralled from his lips, noble brow furrowed, tail still against the russet ground now lathered in sunlight. The world was a glowing congregation of various golds and oranges, blazing undergrowth thick with tawny vivacity.

     Beside him sat his sparring partner, Feyre, in her aurean brilliance. His performance had been provoked out of sheer necessity and nothing more. Now, they howled together in a single, clear note. He tilted his head back and parted his maw, face supine to the blazing sky above. His voice climbed in a deep, resonant tenor throughout the glade, alerting the inhabitants of his presence. The melodious timbre hung in the air as his sights retreated back to the ground, ears cocked; alert. He shot a few fleeting glances at Feyre, summoning an expression of confidence and vim. He was eager to address the alphas, if not only to prove his worth in the world.