Sun Mote Copse Run Down

whatever bravado rasalas had summoned as they neared their destination began to wax and wane with each step. it sputters to a stop as niamh announces they’ve reached the firebirds. his shoulders slump in exhaustion that he fought hard to keep out of his steps — though niamh had seen that he’d had food and a bath, he couldn’t deny that their journey had been far and sucked his energy out of him greedily. his injuries smart as she sends up a call. mhm. is all rasalas has the will to rumble; thought of speaking too much when his wound burns. he’s disturbed whatever healing process had begun; probably not a bad thing given the stirrings of infection setting in.

mis-matched gaze studies the strange territory yawning before them as he hangs near niamh’s hind leg. if his pelage is moondappled, her’s is cloak of draped sunlight: they couldn’t be more different and though she is bigger than him ( for now, perhaps ) she offers him no actual camouflage. still, she is the reason he’s here and he glimpses ‘round her leg at her face before his gaze flits to the shadows, waiting to see if anybody else would appear.