Drooping Willows when the dog bites

<blockquote><ul><span style='font-size:7pt;line-height:100%'>oh my GOD this is so bad. D:</li></ul></span>
A set of jaws reached out of the darkness of old memories and took a hold of him. Her familiarity could no longer be put down to coincidence and the large number of white wolves he was acquainted with. Her presence could no longer be excused or denied. His fleeting, fragile soul began to tremble and quake as he reconstructed the identity of a ghost who was not standing in front of him. <i>Vlar.</i> The scars she had given him along his muzzle and shoulders tingled as he recalled a muddled, violent series of images from the fight in that den. He was unsure of what to do with himself, caught somewhere between fight or flight, revenge and escape. But another part of him longed for redemption, and this part was so new and innocent that Kiche was drawn to it's raw beauty. It finally occured to him why she stood trembling in the snow, so reluctant to trust him. <i>Does she know it's me?</i> Even if he had given her a different name, he was sure she still knew him.

Frightened and hesitant, he took another look at Vlar. She was a shadow of the imposing cult-member she had once been, her face marred by the echoes of old struggles. He could probably silence her with just one flash of his teeth, and that was no honorable vengeance. Would it make him feel any better? Would it erase every painful memory?

With a sigh, he took another step forward, his tongue reaching out and gliding over her scarred muzzle, "<b>I'm sorry, Vlar.</b>" That one frighteningly serpentine scar that ran down from her eye and crossed the bridge of his nose, that one had been his fault, hadn't it. She had been the heathen he had exiled, hadn't she? Slowly, everything came back to him, and filled him with dirty, solemn shame. "<b>I promise I'll make up for everything.</b>" He moved to stand beside her so that she might lean on him, hoping that she'd still want to.
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like my art? comission me!

The quiet that had fallen over Kiche would have raised her hackles through sheer nerves...the tension she imagined could be felt dragged on until he stepped towards her. Unbidden, a whine slipped form her throat and had her cowering - her matted tail curling up beneath her legs as she crouched, fearful of whatever attack he might bestow upon her. Instead of an attack, however, Kiche simply licked her.. and it snapped her eyes wide open, staring at him in shock. ...What?

Vlarindara froze, listening to him speak.. to his apology and she turned her head to the side, whining slightly. "You..don't have to apologize to me, Kiche.. you were doing as your position demanded.." His tongue had touched the scar that had been caused by him that date...and she wondered if he was really apologizing for that - or for something else. THough it had to be said. When he positioned himself to lean against, she straightened from her snow bed and did take advantage, leaning against his furred side. Though it wasn't for support so much as it was for warmth.

<blockquote><span style='font-size:7pt;line-height:100%'><ul>I say we finish this up (you can post once more if you like?) and do a backdated continuation, if you want?</li></ul></span>
The way she quivered, plaintive and terrified in the snow, was like a knife in his heart. The blade went in so deep that it stole his breath away. <i>I've hurt you,</i> he thought to himself, <i>I've hurt you and I... what was I thinking?</i> How could he ever have thought he was any better than these heathens? On it's own, that question was enough to break his heart. And if that wasn't bad enough, the fact that some secret part of his soul cringed at the realization that he was a heath— a <i>wolf</i>, drove the knife in even deeper. He was not ready to belong. While he desperately <i>wanted</i> to belong with these strange creatures, he knew he was not ready, and wondered if he would ever be. In the mean time, though, he figured it would cost him nothing to reach out to this poor soul that he had helped to break. It was perhaps the most singularly Christian thing he had done in his lifetime.

Though his disagreed with her about the need to apologize, he decided it wasn't worth arguing. Instead, he lingered on the sound of his name on her tongue. "<b>Really, call me Fatman,</b>" he insisted, "<b>It's more my name than any other name I've worn. I've... I've changed. I don't want to be Kiche.</b>" As she leaned into him, he brushed his nose against the base of her ear gently, a tentative, affectionate gesture. "<b>Anyway, I think we've got some catching up to do.</b>" Ever so slowly, he began to lead her towards his new home.
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like my art? comission me!

OOC: X3 Sure! 8D ...I can always throw her into the other thread to.. with Kiche and the other trwo wolves X3 -gigglefits- And make us a pre-dated thread. Mwahaha.

"Fatman, then..." She nodded, offering him a quiet, breezy chortle in return as they started moving towards the snow house.. Vlarindara leaned steadily against him as she did so - soaking up what warmth she could. "You have changed - and..I'm glad...I..would probably not wake up if you hadn't done if for me." She hated it when it sounded like -that-..but it was true. Vlarindara felt.. oddly safe. For now.. until he sought to send her away for what she had done.. or something.

{Exit to da snow haus! 8D}