Lone Star Mountain graustufen

mahler.

he would remember this name for a long time to come. and at the end of his life stigmata would recall this meal - this moment - with crystal clarity.

he wouldn't be able to remember the context, the before or the after, but he would be ingrained with this scene: a time in lone star's ambiance, clouded with the scent of bloodsnow, where he encountered a haunting pair of glass lilacs and promised them, wordlessly, a place beside him. the feeling of an immediate and visceral attachment - the taste of sharing victory with his equal, if not better - would tattoo him, leave him scarred and changed, but there was no hesitation on his part to accept the challenge.

he knew next to nothing of this male, and could very well meet his end by those same teeth he dared call an ally, but stigmata knew that nothing worth having was ever easy. and if possessing the stonehound somehow managed to get him killed, he would still think the endeavor worthy to have ventured.

hunger sated, and ambitions higher than ever, stigmata lifted his muzzle into the cold wind and motioned with bloody chops towards the low slopes. "come, let the rest be scavenged. these mountains - this range is ours, and we shall want for nothing, not even our own leftovers," he smiled, devilish and certain, starting up an easy lope down the mountain. he was eager to take up shelter with the wolf, and whisper to him all the grand schemes rotating like cogs in his head; hoping he'd found a like-minded machinist with whom he could build his empire.

fade w/ your next post? i'm starting us a fresh one asap