The primal snarls and howls of the hounds echoed into the night as the Sluagh hounds returned from their hunt, their sleek bodies glistening with the blood of their prey. Their fur, as dark as the deepest shadows, rippled with a predatory grace as they prowled through the moonlit forest to gather in the clearing where they shifted seamlessly from their canine forms back into their fae selves. The sight was both beautiful and haunting, as the black hounds transformed into lithe and graceful fae beings, they celebrated their kills with wild abandon, voices raised in triumphant howls.
Oryn reveled in the hunt, in the thrill of the chase and the kill, the taste of blood and the fae magic that ran within it. It was during those times when he felt he belonged with the Sluagh, but it was amidst the revelry that followed that he stood apart, his gaze distant and haunted as he watched his companions celebrate. Now that their hunt had come to its successful end, the shuck silently slunk away from the celebrations. His long fur stripped away from him like tendrils of smoke as he moved through the trees, and he stepped back into the light on two feet, the pale skin above the waist of black breeches soaked in the moons' ethereal glow.
He stopped beneath an elder oak tree of twisted boughs and gnarled roots, possessions of his scattered about it as though it'd been made a home. Both blackened hands speared into his dark waves and his head fell back as he drew a deep breath of cool, night air and blew it back toward the heavens in a stream of silvery mist. Golden eyes drifted shut and a slow grin curled on his lips as he reveled in the lingering high and the coppery tang of blood still on his tongue.
Silence. Already Oryn felt the fragile edges of his mind begin to fray. Shadows danced at the edge of his consciousness, whispering secrets that only he could hear. He muttered to himself incoherently, his words a jumbled mess of half-formed thoughts and broken rhymes until finally he slowly pieced them together.
Oryn reveled in the hunt, in the thrill of the chase and the kill, the taste of blood and the fae magic that ran within it. It was during those times when he felt he belonged with the Sluagh, but it was amidst the revelry that followed that he stood apart, his gaze distant and haunted as he watched his companions celebrate. Now that their hunt had come to its successful end, the shuck silently slunk away from the celebrations. His long fur stripped away from him like tendrils of smoke as he moved through the trees, and he stepped back into the light on two feet, the pale skin above the waist of black breeches soaked in the moons' ethereal glow.
He stopped beneath an elder oak tree of twisted boughs and gnarled roots, possessions of his scattered about it as though it'd been made a home. Both blackened hands speared into his dark waves and his head fell back as he drew a deep breath of cool, night air and blew it back toward the heavens in a stream of silvery mist. Golden eyes drifted shut and a slow grin curled on his lips as he reveled in the lingering high and the coppery tang of blood still on his tongue.
Silence. Already Oryn felt the fragile edges of his mind begin to fray. Shadows danced at the edge of his consciousness, whispering secrets that only he could hear. He muttered to himself incoherently, his words a jumbled mess of half-formed thoughts and broken rhymes until finally he slowly pieced them together.
When the hunt comes to its end,
In the silence.. I'm left to fend,
For the shadows, they are my friend,
But in my mind, they twist , and bend..
Aethiriin
In the silence.. I'm left to fend,
For the shadows, they are my friend,
But in my mind, they twist , and bend..
Aethiriin