Post by S.ummersC.reek on Jan 12, 2008 20:08:56 GMT -5
first.impressions.lie
The night was consuming, a thick dark blanket that strew shadows across the dry earth. The full moon that hung in the sky was often covered by a dreary cloud, haunting the nighttime. Everything was silent here, as if nothing dared to break this perpetual gloom.
Nothing but the rythmic pound of daggar on eroded soil, the earth bowing to the hellion as he raced his shadow. Dark chocolate pelt was vibrant against the stark blackness, not to mention four perfectly similar albastar stockings that stained his pelt. His facedes were drenched in ivory, a mask of dark pelt cloaking his glittering voids.
Of course, this place would be his. There was no challenge, the other demons disspearing to claim the ample land elsewhere. No one to challenge him here. No need to make a rearing fool of himself. So, with a final snort of his sculpted anglo-arabian nares and a sliding stop which flung dirt about his heels, he spat.
Mine. All mine...
Loud enough for the nightlife to give a chorus of chirps and rustles, yet quiet enough for the echo to die once, leaving the memory of a claim ringing through the night.
And silence prevailed.
[/size]The night was consuming, a thick dark blanket that strew shadows across the dry earth. The full moon that hung in the sky was often covered by a dreary cloud, haunting the nighttime. Everything was silent here, as if nothing dared to break this perpetual gloom.
Nothing but the rythmic pound of daggar on eroded soil, the earth bowing to the hellion as he raced his shadow. Dark chocolate pelt was vibrant against the stark blackness, not to mention four perfectly similar albastar stockings that stained his pelt. His facedes were drenched in ivory, a mask of dark pelt cloaking his glittering voids.
Of course, this place would be his. There was no challenge, the other demons disspearing to claim the ample land elsewhere. No one to challenge him here. No need to make a rearing fool of himself. So, with a final snort of his sculpted anglo-arabian nares and a sliding stop which flung dirt about his heels, he spat.
Mine. All mine...
Loud enough for the nightlife to give a chorus of chirps and rustles, yet quiet enough for the echo to die once, leaving the memory of a claim ringing through the night.
And silence prevailed.