Heiress Loch Mirror mirror

Pitch, you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the water, and for a split second, it seems like it's moving on its own!

This place wasn't to Pitch's liking. There was too much space, she longed for the shelter of the forest so that she could hide away, never to be seen but...She had to come out into the light sometime or another. Even she struggled to hunt when the dense foliage made it near impossible to move faster than a trot. Rabbits and mice didn't sate her appetite for long, she wanted something a little more substantial, something she could truly sink her teeth into.  And so with that in mind she'd set out that morning with the intention of staining her muzzle red.

With a squint, Pitch stepped out of the darkness into the light. The sky was grey and overcast but even then she winched as the few stray beams of sunlight pricked at her eyes, assaulting her widened pupils. Had she been less refined she would have hissed in discomfort, maybe even uttered a harsh statement or two. Instead, she pressed forward, her movements as graceful and lithesome as ever. Hellfire orange eyes scanned her surroundings with jerky movements to reinstate that she was indeed alone. Good.

Idly, she glanced down at her reflection. She knew that she was beautiful, it wasn't a matter of being vain; rather, she was simply acknowledging a fact, a truth that couldn't be denied. And yet...the reflection that stared back at her was anything but perfect. It was distorted and hideous, an ugly smile tainted it's lips as a serpentine tongue flicked out from between it's lips. Pitch snarled, and snapped at the water, destroying the image in one fell swoop. When she pulled back the ripples faded and she saw herself once again, as it should be.

Wyckoff heard water and went to investigate, muttering a prayer to the gods he didn't believe in that nobody else was there. He was feeling tired and didn't want to try the dance of hatred that his interactions with other wolves somehow always became. He knew it was his fault, but Scunthorpe man didn't know how to make a good relationship. All of his relationship experience was fighting and insults.

Of course, when he wanted no one to be there, someone was there. A pitch-black girl staring into the water. Not drinking, just looking. Then suddenly she snarled and slapped the water with her paw. Now what was that for? He wanted a drink so he walked up to her, effortlessly calm. He was a bit unnerved by her, although not much. No matter how bad she was, he was worse. "Hey, perfect," he said, the words coming out of his mouth before he could think about them. She did look perfect, but he wasn't trying to be flirty or anything.

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Pitch regarded the stranger with cold disinterest. If he was here for the water than he was welcome to it, she would not snarl or grumble in an attempt to claim the loch as her own. As he drew ever closer though it soon became clear that he intended to intrude upon her space, a personal slight that she had little interest in tolerating. He eyes narrowed, such a slight movement that it would have been near impossible for the loner to notice from where he stood. Pitch, as ever, was a hard one to read; a tangle of truths and pretences all coiled together to form one perfect being.

He then spoke, his words quiet and murmured as though they weren't for her ears. Well too bad, she'd heard him just fine. With an almost eerie, elegant grace she turned to him proper, her head tipping to the side a little as she stared him down with heated, expectant eyes, as though to say 'hey yourself.'

In all honesty, she had no interest in socialising with anyone other than her dearest brother but... he wasn't here, was he? Such a shame, oh how she missed him so.

With a flick of her front paw, she gestured to the water, inviting him to quench his first. Maybe she'd shove him down whilst he was at it and drown him, it would serve him right wouldn't it?

Wyckoff lowered his head and lapped up a drink of water. The cold liquid felt like it was freezing his tongue as he touched it to it, though not in an unpleasant way. As he looked up, he saw the black female's face. She hadn't spoken a word. She didn't need to. Her expression said it all, that she hated his guts right now. The scarred man didn't know what he had done to piss her off.

As the silent woman continued to watch him mercilessly. He felt uncomfortable being so close, and felt the urge to back away. But he wasn't a pup. He could deal with a spooky wolf. He displayed one white fang. She would not walk all over him, no matter how mysteriously elegant she was.

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