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... I think that...
I think that I'll post a small story I wrote here today, yes, I really need a best friend right now. *sigh*
Small red curls form around her head and cascade around her shoulders as small wisps falls out of the braids she is fixing with string from last nights skin she has in her lap. The scent of clovers is everywhere as she is sitting in a bed of them near a rather big creek, her soft green dress blending in with the moss on the rock she is leaning against with her elbows. Her arms are still round with youth, no wrinkles even in the lines furrowed in her brow with concentration as she twists three strands of tugged red waves in her small fingers. Her intense gaze is hooded by long russet lashes that are almost brushing against her rounded tanned cheekbones. She doesn’t look up even when a flock of birds bursts out of a nearby tree into the pine roof breaking into the blue sky that is so shaded by needles that only scattered beams of sunlight make their way into the patches of undergrowth. She twists the last strands between her fingers and ties the knot of deer thread into her hair. Two tight braids travel along her scalp in the way her sister calls French, each end of the braids reach midway down her back through 6 summers of growth. She looks up at a butterfly revealing almost unnatural green eyes, that intensely gaze upon the butterfly for 5 seconds before she has it between her small palms. She opens her hands so that her fingers form a cage, and examines her catch. Long silver wings are caught in a spread fashion revealing lines and swirls of blood red dust along the span of the wings. Her eyes narrow at the antennae which have a feathery quality to them and she realizes that her catch is a moth, licking her lips with satisfaction after crunching it between needle sharp teeth. She lays the wings out on the rock she is leaning on as she swallows the meat, laying them out for a better view, careful not to smear the dust. Her ears perk up slightly as she does this and she looks behind her, leering into the trees for whatever made such a peculiar sound. Like purring or snarling, but she couldn’t pick up a pulse. So her eyes pulse along the tree line, looking for anything in peculiar, when she hears flapping. The flapping is not feathery like a bird, but is heavy, such as the bat; before sunset? She closes her eyes for a second and then she feels a shadow, so she opens her eyes and a pale face curtained by dark hair is directly in front of her face, a smug smile curling across thick red lips. "You've eaten the moth?" She blinks and nods slightly, her shock diminishing in a second, "Yeah." and she leans towards him with a leer, "Was it yours?" He smiles and pulls back standing out of his crouch into his full height, taller then most men, letting a hand run down one of her braids, and the corner of his lip twitches with a smirk, and he begins to walk off. She follows him, her height coming up to his knee and stands in front of him, "What do you want?" She asks with an amateur authority, and he grins and crouching down to her height, pushes his hair over his shoulder, “What is your name, little wolf?” She almost snarls with distaste at being called little, and stands to her full height, “Yours first, trespasser.” He laughs, a hearty almost villainous laugh and smiles, “Dracono, and you must be Cansa…” She almost steps back with shock but straightens her shoulders, “Don’t disrespect me, stranger,” She purrs with low voice, “I have authority here.” He grins again, a toothy grin and stands up, “I must meet with your father, Miss Cansa, will you please escort me there?” Her green eyes were burning with embarrassment now show a smugness when she got this tall stranger to respect her. Everyone else usually treats her like a joke or an annoyance, but because she will be alpha when she’s older, she felt she should show some authority; amateur or not, every chance she has. She nods, biting her lower lip with a personal pride, and a russet wolf cub takes her place and barks in a high pitched note as she runs through the clovers and brush, a winged stranger behind her.
Cansa meets a Vampire.
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