Round Stone Crest dress me up and watch me die

Light snow - 12F, -11C, Evening | For @Gent

Branwen had settled himself outside of the pack den, in his usual spot. He simply sat there, watching the moon appear and disappear through steadily moving grey clouds. From the clouds fell fat fluffy flakes. They fell in such a way that he was able to count each one as they fell past his nose. One, two, three, four, fivesixseveneightnin-- There was a momentary downpour of flakes as a tree branch above could no longer bear the weight. Bran wuffed in offense and rose to shake the offensive snow from his pelt. The cold was just beginning to make his bones ache a bit. Rolling his eyes, the aging male slid his forelegs out in the snow, tiny hillocks forming before his paws. A good stretch seemed to solve his problems most of the time. This was no different. He let his haunches fall again.

Dark brown eyes rose up to the sky again. The moon disappeared from view momentarily. Branwen found himself growing anxious waiting for it to reappear. He had to shake the feeling free, and it proved hard to throw. He was too at ease. Had he not informed his Leader of his desires, or...His abilities? Surely there was something that currently ruffled the man's fur and if not his own, perhaps his Queen's? He was certain there was a female about. Someone, anyone in need of releasing their own anxieties. It had been so long...An uncomfortable whine eked through Branwen's teeth and he shifted his belly against the snow. What was wrong with him? Certainly he loved what he was able to withstand and yet it had never...bothered him so greatly. He wondered if he ought to summon Gent and mention his concerns. But perhaps the man had better matters to deal with.

As was the routine, the king was nonce ly on a return trip to the small mountain's heights in order to check in with those who were taking respite during the dark of the night. He would see to it that they were well, still present, and then he would descend again to tire his muscles until they could bear it no more. With each soul that disappeared from his life, he felt more and more lost, yet the beast could never admit to such a weakness. He attempted to fill the growing void with physical labor and diligent patrols, allowing the winter's wrath to numb his skin and frost his thoughts.

It wasn't enough, however, and the day when he might no longer withstand the anxiety that plagued him was a prospect he feared.

As he crested the slope, winding serpent-like through the trees, he was braced. Prepared to find that perhaps one more pack member had gone missing, had fallen victim to the cold, was no more. When he arrived, there was only Branwen, and the whispered breaths of those who slumbered within the communal den. All accounted for, all safe. His lungs unfroze and he was able to breathe just a little bit longer. As quiet as snowfall he entered the den, touching his nose to @Draven 's crown as he slept before checking over the others.

It wasn't until his departure that he acknowledged Branwen. The man seemed restless to the king, and so he raised his voice in offering.

"Join me."

It took little time for him to return to counting flakes. It was relieving, to tell the truth. Perhaps it was a bit silly of him to...Want to be abused? Internally, he cringed at the thought. No, no, that was his job. He ought to be proud of that. That was what he had been raised to do. He ought to be honored to have such strength. Bran's ears twisted back and he returned to counting flakes, focusing on each speck and listening to the quiet breathing of his packmates below. Branwen was only somewhat aware when the dark figure of his King moved back him into the den. He was far too focused on keeping himself in check.

With such monotonous counting, he began to lull himself into a doze. His head flopped to one side and his ears splayed about. Small plumes of warm air rose from his nostrils in a rhythmic manner. When he awoke, he found himself quite energized, but surprised. Dark eyes took in the sight of Gent and Branwen found himself relieved that he had woken up at such an opportune moment. He was being summoned. Bowing his head, he slowly rose to his paws, hiding an expression of discomfort as his joints ached, either from the cold or from sitting like that for so long. He obediently joined his leader, keeping his posture low but still casual.

"What may I do for you, sir?" He asked, eyes flicking towards the man.

As expected, the other man followed without question or even a hint of hesitation. While very much different in his own rights, Branwen was coming to remind him of @Ainashi, allowing for a smidgen more trust than the shade king might normally extend to a wolf so novel to his ranks. Zilas had proven himself to be dependable as well as capable beyond what he himself thought to be. Through both males and the others, specifically Calanthe and Danica, Gent was learning that he desired to one day be able to claim having a talent for taking those so thoroughly displaced and utilizing them in a way no other leader could.

'What can I do for you, sir?' Keep me company, his thoughts answered while his lips parted to speak of something else.

"Why do you sleep outside of the den?" he asked conversationally, "It's cold."

You could die. Just as Cessair had. It was concerning, however such reflection was kept out of his voice. They did not need to touch on such dreary details, and certainly the king would not show just how thoroughly these failures affected him. Tonight, Gent would be satisfied with simply learning a bit about this stranger living under his protection.

(This post was last modified: Feb 02, 2016, 09:53 PM by Gent.)