[ P ] warm like blood

i used to wake up with the moon

praying for the sun to die soon

i used to get caught in the clouds

with blood on my face, with the strangest smile

hoping for the wind to carry me away

So close — she can almost taste its blood, the blood of the hare just barely beyond her grasp. With its winter-white fur, it nearly blends in with the snow blanketing the earth, but it could not hide from her and it cannot run forever either. The hare begins to swerve into a turn to evade a tree in its path and Nyx takes her chance, launching herself into a leap, aiming for the small creature jaws-first. She feels plush fur and grabs on before tucking her head towards her chest as the momentum sends her tumbling across the snow, kicking up a smatter of icy powder.

Her prize struggles in her grip as she rights herself and pulls back up onto large black paws. It's still alive and muffled chuckles escape her, a wicked smirk spreading across her maw. You're all mine now. Her grasp tightens on the hare's back then she starts shaking it back and forth furiously like a toy, disorienting the creature before she throws it to the ground. She gives it just a split-second before lunging down to bite its neck, snapping it in an instant.

The hare lies dead and Nyx sets a paw down over her kill as she takes a moment to breathe out a simple prayer to honor Artemis, and in that moment, she finally begins to really take in the scenery. Never has she seen trees with bark this color, like streaks of blood against the pale backdrop of winter, the contrast brilliant and captivating especially when washed over with the scarlet glow of dusk, intensifying the colors.

She could stand and stare forever.

// @Satchel

greek vocab - translation notes

« θάνατος οὐδὲν διαφέρει τοῦ ζῆν »
death is no different than life.

It was a creepy sort of quite out here, the winds slightly hushed.

Weaving in and out of existence, the bark of the trees tugging at his pale hide like the regret of a lover. Cast out here among the rest, breathing a slow inhale as flakes of snow continued their decent. He supposed he was built for this sort of thing, a ghost blending in to the backdrop. Leaving a lasting trail of heartbreak in his wake.

He couldn't shake the feeling that, he might not be as alone as he felt. Continuing his wretched path towards nowhere, eventually a slight clearing was within eyesight. Not about to be foolish, he made a wide little circle as he inched close as he dare. The stench of blood, fresh as the fallen snow. Well, now curiosity was running rampant through his bones. It was at this point that he began to finally notice her. A magnificent blend of ebony and smoke. A sharp contrast to the whiteness, a sharp contrast to himself. If he had any desire towards her sex, he might be even more intrigued. As it was, he appreciated her beauty for what it was. Nicer somehow, to not feel the urge like he did with his own.

He realized it might be rude to continue staring, and the silence that settled over was too much to bear. So he decided to emerge from the abyss, his eyes of molten orange cutting through everything as wicked as the sun. Careful in his approach, making sure she noticed. After all, no need to startle her. A careful look over, a slow little nod of acknowledgement. A small glance at the hare, laying in ruins upon the cold earth. Another little inhale, breath rising out as if his very soul was on fire.

"Your as dark as the moon, and just as mysterious." a casual observation, a hint of respect in his wicked tones. How many more times would he collide with a stranger, time toiling on towards Oblivion. "I must say, for my first time here, it could be worse." after all, he could still be a monster. Once upon a time he would not have hesitated to spill her crimson fluids forth. Just because she was there. Now however? Well, whoever said an old wolf couldn't learn new tricks? Streaching out in a slow bow, his molten gaze forever longing for an answer she couldn't give.

" Www."

i used to wake up with the moon

praying for the sun to die soon

i used to get caught in the clouds

with blood on my face, with the strangest smile

hoping for the wind to carry me away

There is always something magnificent and magical about old forests such as these, with trees so tall and wide one just knows they've been standing there for aeons. Have trees stood for as long as there has been an Earth? Did they first sprout from the dirt with the hatching of the World-Egg? Were these ones stained with ichor, granting them their brilliant hue?

Could it be the blood of Zagreus and the Titans that destroyed him? Could they have left their marks on the world in ways other than how they make up the pieces of man? The bark draws her eye the same as blood and she wonders if these trees bleed like they're made of flesh. Her eyes trace deep grooves in its corpus, aged and weathered claw marks from a bear or some such — do they feel it? Does a tree feel when its trunk is carved into, or when its branches are broken off, or when its leaves are ripped away and eaten?

Does it hurt? She remembers long, philosophical discussions, during which some would suggest plants too had a soul, but on a lower level than that of wolves. She wonders...

Oh. She's not alone.

Her head turns to look over her shoulder when she hears the approaching footsteps crunching the freshly-fallen snow, when the lupine scent reaches her nose. A man whose scent is subtle and earthy, with somewhat effeminate floral notes underneath — he isn't an especially large man, but a fit and lithe one, built to run and swim and dance with those lanky limbs. Trim the way many men back home seemed to treasure in their beautiful youths.

This one is certainly not a youth any longer, but he could be pretty, Nyx notes, if not for the dirt staining his fair pelt. She imagines if well-kept, his fur would be reminiscent of the lunar light.

She meets his inquisitive gaze, rimmed in heavy black that seems to make their fiery orange burn brighter. He breaks the silence between them with an observation, "You're as dark as the moon, and just as mysterious."

An asymmetrical smile tugs at Nyx's dark lips, intrigued to be met with something a little different than her usual encounters — but she doesn't rule the usual things out quite yet. Sometimes wolves will lead with something a little more interesting, before getting to the point of what they want, why they are here. "Is that so? But is it not the moon's brightness that lights up the night?" she says.

"I must say, for my first time here, it could be worse," says the pale stranger with a hint of something deeper in his gaze and tone, causing her to curiously quirk a brow.

She turns around to fully face her company, leaving her catch lying beside her. "How so?" she prompts with a spark in her eye.

// @Satchel

greek vocab - translation notes

« θάνατος οὐδὲν διαφέρει τοῦ ζῆν »
death is no different than life.

A subtle sort of curiosity, imbedded into his very bones.

How long since he allowed himself to pay attention? For the most part, his heart feigned indifference. After all, here he was in full glory. Dirt, mud, and everything else. As he took his time, he couldn't help but feel a couple of different types of ways. But he knew far better than to get into his own brand of bullshit. A slow shake of his pelt, even to linger this long was... Well who was he to say?

She was as dark , as the last one was pale. Both shared the same sense of vibrance however. Curious, that here he should feel a sudden vulnerability. Homesickness was the worst. Still he was absolutely careful to display only neutrality, a slight cock of his chiseled skull. The crisp collection of slush, and then she decided to speak. Ears twisted forth to capture every syllable, a sudden rush of nostalgia. He often kept the company of men, his flawed attraction. So he supposed, it was nice to just be able to exist around another for once.

He once again turned to face her, another slow and and curious stare. However this time, he abruptly allowed himself the liberty of making a snow angel upon the Earth.

"The same as, a symphony of strangers." He then proceeded to play bow, scooting some snow towards her, but not too forcefully. Perhaps you can call it a sprinkling of faith. A wink, and then it was over. As the next question came, and went. Once upon a time he might have laughed at such a request. Now all he could do, is just go on with it.
"I don't know if it's appropriate for me to answer that." not wanting to ruin the mood, he tossed his gaze slightly into the distance. The smell of caribou drifting through, unusual of course because most of them should have migrated. Close enough almost to taste, he offered another patient look wondering if she might be for it after all.


"Speech." /div>

(This post was last modified: 09-05-2021, 07:09 PM by Satchel.)

i used to wake up with the moon

praying for the sun to die soon

There is a momentary lull in the conversation and Nyx can feel the man's stare on her — she watches his eyes, always, for they are what betrays a wolf's intent. Under most circumstances, she'd be repulsed to have a man's eyes lingering over her, but this one's gaze is nothing but curious, maybe a little distant as if there is something heavy on his mind. It isn't the sort of stare many men meet her with, where they often regard her either with their sick desires or their disgust or their contempt at being faced with a woman taller, fitter, and more handsome than they.

No. There is something different with this man, and she finds herself mildly intrigued... Out of nowhere, he flips onto his back and begins rolling in the snow, leaving his silhouette as an imprint. Her brow furrows at his comment as he does so, "The same as, a symphony of strangers."

"What..." Nyx mutters with a hard squint, unsure what to make of the statement or the man's behavior, why he would so casually make snow angels in front of a stranger, exposing his vulnerable belly to her, leaving himself open to attack had she felt the whim. He rights himself and dips into a bow, tossing a little snow her way. She doesn't move, too bewildered by the playful display to really know how to react, and so she ends up with her long limbs sprinkled with powder.

He even winks. She arches a brow. He responds to her prompting, but denies her a real answer, "I don't know if it's appropriate for me to answer that." How cruel, to dangle the hint of something interesting in front of her and refuse to elaborate further...

Nyx puts on a smirk and says, "Does it really matter what is appropriate?" They've thrown out all pretenses of behaving 'appropriately' from the very moment he approached her, from his enigmatic comments to his eccentric behavior — all this does is confirm to her that he had said something he shouldn't have. It fuels her curiosity further, makes her want to figure out this man and understand what is going through his head.

The pale man glances aside for just a second before he gives a steady, purposeful look. A gentle breeze drifts in, carrying the scent of prey not far from their location. He doesn't say anything but he doesn't have to.

"Hungry? Or just craving some excitement?" asks Nyx.

@Satchel

i used to get caught in the clouds, with blood on my face, with the strangest smile

hoping for the wind to carry me away

Perhaps the real tragedy was his own self conscious.

To appreciate her very being, he almost didn't dare. Another slow inhale, reminding himself that it wasn't too late. Ears flung forth to soak up every syllable, perhaps he was being too cryptic. An internal scolding, and he paused to admire the few stray pine cones. Amazing really, how he once drink whiskey, and now he was stuck with Perrier.

If he didn't act fast, he might loose her entirely.

Straightened up now, he offered a quick glance of apology. A tad bit foolish for such a first meet, however he was he offered up a simple response. "I suppose you must be on to something." a slow addmitance, and then he once again decided to risk it all. After all, was there really anything else left?

And besides all that, he had no desire to make her nervous. "The name is Satchel." relaxed for obvious reasons, he was not a cocky individual, but the only thing he really had to deal waz himself.A free range of expression, if this was the end of the world would he ever be satisfied? He supposed not.

"Doesn't such things go hand in hand?" another slow smile, before glancing off towards the underbrush. "If your hungry, I know a good place to fish." a rather open ended statement, leaving the rest up to chance. To be honest he never was much one to believe in things as fate. He was here and this was how it went. For better or worse. The soft fall of snow sprinkling in between, a rare enchantment if there ever was.

"Speech." /div>

i used to wake up with the moon

praying for the sun to die soon

"I suppose you must be on to something," the man admits, straightening up after his slip with an apologetic look in his eyes. Of course Nyx is on to something. She's not one to shun propriety in its entirely — she is a prince, after all, and knows the value of sophistication and manners, but there comes a point where these things are no longer necessary and serve as nothing but a stifling hindrance. Not to mention that all the taboo topics are the most interesting ones...

Tonight, she can't care less about what is appropriate or not. She is only interested in satisfying her curiosity.

The man before her offers an introduction, finally, his name as strange to her ears as the rest of him. "S... Satssel?" tries Nyx with a furrowed brow, struggling with the middle sound. It's unnatural to the Hellene, the sound not existing in any capacity in her native tongue. She manages the closest approximation she can. She glances down at the snowy ground, then looks back up to Satchel. "I'm sorry, I butchered that. The name's Nyx."

She had asked, hungry or simply looking for some excitement? "Doesn't such things go hand in hand?" Satchel replies. Nyx ponders it, and supposes he's correct in a sense. There are many ways to hunger, many things to hunger for, and they all drive a wolf to action. She wonders, what is Satchel hungering for? She doesn't ask, nor speak her thoughts aloud, for concern he may misconstrue her meaning. He is a man, after all.

He tells her he knows a good place to fish, if she's hungry — though she suspects the offer isn't really about procuring food. It's just an effort to keep her company for a little bit longer. But, while he is indeed a man, she doesn't quite get that impression from him, the sort of impression that makes her skin crawl. Besides, she is bored with nothing better to do and she is sure the current incarnation of Zagreus would want her to take the chance.

So, she smirks and says, "I'm not exactly hungry, but why not? It'll be a good test of the reflexes." Certainly, she's never one to turn down an opportunity to challenge and improve herself in any way, but that is not all there is to her acceptance of his offer. Nyx kicks some snow over the hare she'd just killed and gestures a raised forepaw. "Show me then."

@Satchel
note: she butchers the pronunciation of 'butcher' as well; i just don't write phonetic accents except very sparingly/for specific effect

i used to get caught in the clouds, with blood on my face, with the strangest smile

hoping for the wind to carry me away