all creation myths need a devil
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stigmata listened for a while to the life around him: attentive to the bird-songs and the bee-buzzing. he listened, in particular, to the damp-smelling susurrus of the breeze. he preyed on any changes in the air he could detect, ignoring the extraneous signs of lesser life as the cool winds trickled through leafy branches in airy breaths and brushed down the blades of grass like a comb. he watched only -- tensely -- for the approach he'd beckoned; all of him concentrated wholly on the task before him.
this was as important to him as feeding himself. as important as survival itself. so, rooted and stiff-limbed, the gargoyle waited, and it was not long before the birds became distant and there was a rustling besides the wind-sounds that hailed the careful arrival of another predator.
he was greeted by a wick of fire -- both in eye and fur. stigmata looked at her first, his somber gaze raking the coals of her figure and noting, with mild disappointment, that the sag of her slim breasts indicated a recent whelping. great -- taken and occupied. though he considered her ineligible for his desires, the certainty behind her posture riled him; he would've been glad to compete for her, but his timing couldn't be helped. he couldn't have known he'd be a loner now.
his gaze lingered only briefly. the basilisk cast down his ferreting eyes, and -- with what seemed to be a great effort -- made a show of dismounting what high horse he'd ridden in on, and relieved himself of what patriarchal mien he had left to carry. there was an unmissable pride about the steely male, but he was obfuscating his natural presence in favor of bent legs and half-tucked tail: the tentative submission of a wolf unused to the manner. it was a miserly look on him and one he didn't assume lightly.
when he spoke, it was quiet and slow and straight to the point. "my name is stigmata. i am bereft and in need of an end to my lone trek. i stand here, prepared only to earn my asylum here, should you see fit to induce me."
this was as important to him as feeding himself. as important as survival itself. so, rooted and stiff-limbed, the gargoyle waited, and it was not long before the birds became distant and there was a rustling besides the wind-sounds that hailed the careful arrival of another predator.
he was greeted by a wick of fire -- both in eye and fur. stigmata looked at her first, his somber gaze raking the coals of her figure and noting, with mild disappointment, that the sag of her slim breasts indicated a recent whelping. great -- taken and occupied. though he considered her ineligible for his desires, the certainty behind her posture riled him; he would've been glad to compete for her, but his timing couldn't be helped. he couldn't have known he'd be a loner now.
his gaze lingered only briefly. the basilisk cast down his ferreting eyes, and -- with what seemed to be a great effort -- made a show of dismounting what high horse he'd ridden in on, and relieved himself of what patriarchal mien he had left to carry. there was an unmissable pride about the steely male, but he was obfuscating his natural presence in favor of bent legs and half-tucked tail: the tentative submission of a wolf unused to the manner. it was a miserly look on him and one he didn't assume lightly.
when he spoke, it was quiet and slow and straight to the point. "my name is stigmata. i am bereft and in need of an end to my lone trek. i stand here, prepared only to earn my asylum here, should you see fit to induce me."
*tries this lowercase life* :d also, excuse the length. trying to get a feel for this guy.
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RE: hym - by Stigmata - July 09, 2018, 10:11 PM