05-21-2013, 09:35 PM
Another new-ish face. Ursula, some American werewolf in Denver who has come by in the last few months to each sept. She gives a brief kiss to the cheek of the pretty Gaian kin who brought her, possessive, protective(My-kin. Not my-lover).
Seconds after she is away from the kin, her hands raise to her hair to muss it, fluff, mess, shake. Allow the fresh, the pure winds of the sept with the pollens and the sharper scents of pines and grasses and heady wildflowers and more to run through the blonde mass and chase away the city tameness. Earth, moist, rocks, sky. Everyone present shares in the intimacy of the scent bath of the meadow. They are marked, and Angel of Mercy revels in the knowledge.
The garou woman is lush, pretty enough, wildness in her heart for only a theurge on this ahroun's night. Anticipation of rituals, intensity, all of it sings to her soul and raises the hairs on her arms as she approaches the circle, takes her place by the cliath crescent moons with a nod to one of the familiar faces, though tonight is her first moot in the Denver area.
The music starts and her lips thin in what might be surprise- eyes narrow. Still, she sings after a round or two, holds nothing back, offers rhythm and more as best she can.
The energy of the song sweeps through her, and she is given to the Howl, whatever the words or form.
Just another form of Lovemaking...
Seconds after she is away from the kin, her hands raise to her hair to muss it, fluff, mess, shake. Allow the fresh, the pure winds of the sept with the pollens and the sharper scents of pines and grasses and heady wildflowers and more to run through the blonde mass and chase away the city tameness. Earth, moist, rocks, sky. Everyone present shares in the intimacy of the scent bath of the meadow. They are marked, and Angel of Mercy revels in the knowledge.
The garou woman is lush, pretty enough, wildness in her heart for only a theurge on this ahroun's night. Anticipation of rituals, intensity, all of it sings to her soul and raises the hairs on her arms as she approaches the circle, takes her place by the cliath crescent moons with a nod to one of the familiar faces, though tonight is her first moot in the Denver area.
The music starts and her lips thin in what might be surprise- eyes narrow. Still, she sings after a round or two, holds nothing back, offers rhythm and more as best she can.
The energy of the song sweeps through her, and she is given to the Howl, whatever the words or form.
Just another form of Lovemaking...