Ruins of Wildwood
Whisper Marsh Angel of small death - Printable Version

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Angel of small death - Hexamora - Jan 24, 2015

Hexamora, you hear wind blowing through the trees that sounds like singing. 


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Splish! Splash! Splish! was all that could be heard as the woman in white slowly made her way across an expanse of marsh with a thin layer of fog drifting up from the surface of the water that flooded the area, mud and frozen foliage alike beginning to cake around the once off white fur that belonged to the lower portion of her slender legs. It was an idiotic idea to cross over below freezing water - even if it barely came up to her ankles - and risk catching hypothermia, but Hexamora couldn't think of a better way to get around the wetland without avoiding the presence of another. The last thing she wanted was to be brought face to face again with another pathetic soul who wanted to waste her time with pointless chit chat and the possibility of becoming...friends. Ick. That word alone made the skin beneath her fur crawl. How could anyone enjoy someone's company longer than it took to draw a single breath?  


Heeexamorrraaa... Instantly her slow stride came to a complete halt as a gentle breeze ran its invisible fingers through the thick strands of her winter coat causing her ears to prick forward. "Who's out there?" She barked out as her body went rigid, preparing to attack the first sign of another wolf. No more alone or myself could I be... Another gust of wind picked up to toy with the woman as she swore she heard singing on the breeze, bi-colored gaze scanning the immediate area almost certain that there was someone else there messing with her. Was it that psychopathic flirt of a man Aspen again who thought it funny to trail the woman after their second encounter at Riddled Heights and play a prank on her due to the low visibility the fog provided? Hexamora wouldn't put it past him, but an inhale of the crisp air refused to give up his scent and instead her nostrils were met by the musky odor of her wet fur and the floral aroma given off by the various plant life that thrived in the marshy wetland. A low growl echoed in the emptiness of her chest as Mora became irritated by the scenario and continued onward though keeping her body tense and her ears alert to catch the faintest voice or sound to echo off the water. Someone was here and she was going to make them pay for messing with her.



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