07-18-2013, 04:28 PM
Oh, Charlotte.
Like Ingrid, Charlotte is not-yet-Charlotte-wolfe when the moot begins; nor even when they follow the evening's ritemistress across the gauntlet so thin this close to the heart of the Caern that the barrier feels nearly non-existent. It is almost like being whole.
She slips through the gauntlet as easy as a silverfish darting in clear water, with a twist and wriggle of her dorsal spine, and a quiet pop of air. Finds herself still-girl-formed, still-human-shaped on the other side. Human-shaped because homid born though she is, she has never been especially human.
A strange thing: not particularly proud, nor especially sleek. Far from intimidating. There is a certain fineness, a certain regularity to her features that humans might find attractive, but she is a gawkish scarecrow of a thing, arms and legs seem too long and too thin. Charlotte she holds herself very very close, knobby shoulders twisted up and turned inward, her pale eyes huge and watchful in a pale face. Mouth closed, lips pressed together, watching the beginnings of the rite so intently that she misses Ingrid's arrival until the no-moon is alongside them and only after the jostling Ahrouns have slammed into her own legs, as well.
The Ragabash growls and nips. Charlotte makes a little noise and grabs a handful of Erich's fur, solemn expression broken briefly by a bleed-through grin that lingers at the corners of her mouth as she waves (yes: waves, four little white fingers) to the Ragabash.
Charlotte-wolf appears when the howls begin. The awkward girl closes her eyes and feels them rising all around her, bright shards of sound that set the fine hairs of her skin on end, that crawl up the ladder of her spine and make her bleed with aching joy and enduring fury.
Then, abruptly, girl-in-Mexican-Sprite-t-shirt becomes another pristine white dire wolf. Lifts her muzzle to the sky, and sings, with all the others, this weaving, raging,
wolfsong.
Like Ingrid, Charlotte is not-yet-Charlotte-wolfe when the moot begins; nor even when they follow the evening's ritemistress across the gauntlet so thin this close to the heart of the Caern that the barrier feels nearly non-existent. It is almost like being whole.
She slips through the gauntlet as easy as a silverfish darting in clear water, with a twist and wriggle of her dorsal spine, and a quiet pop of air. Finds herself still-girl-formed, still-human-shaped on the other side. Human-shaped because homid born though she is, she has never been especially human.
A strange thing: not particularly proud, nor especially sleek. Far from intimidating. There is a certain fineness, a certain regularity to her features that humans might find attractive, but she is a gawkish scarecrow of a thing, arms and legs seem too long and too thin. Charlotte she holds herself very very close, knobby shoulders twisted up and turned inward, her pale eyes huge and watchful in a pale face. Mouth closed, lips pressed together, watching the beginnings of the rite so intently that she misses Ingrid's arrival until the no-moon is alongside them and only after the jostling Ahrouns have slammed into her own legs, as well.
The Ragabash growls and nips. Charlotte makes a little noise and grabs a handful of Erich's fur, solemn expression broken briefly by a bleed-through grin that lingers at the corners of her mouth as she waves (yes: waves, four little white fingers) to the Ragabash.
Charlotte-wolf appears when the howls begin. The awkward girl closes her eyes and feels them rising all around her, bright shards of sound that set the fine hairs of her skin on end, that crawl up the ladder of her spine and make her bleed with aching joy and enduring fury.
Then, abruptly, girl-in-Mexican-Sprite-t-shirt becomes another pristine white dire wolf. Lifts her muzzle to the sky, and sings, with all the others, this weaving, raging,
wolfsong.
But my heart is wild and my bones are steel
And I could kill you with my bare hands if I was free.
- Phosphorescent, Song for Zula
And I could kill you with my bare hands if I was free.
- Phosphorescent, Song for Zula