09-06-2018, 10:15 PM
[align=center][div style="width:400px; font-size:8.4pt;line-height:1.1;color:#000;font-family:arial;margin-top:3px;margin-bottom:3px;letter-spacing:0px;margin-left:0px;text-align:justify;"]A shadow bore upon small paws, fitting for the child was toned in such a shadow, darkness broken only where the throat had been torn. Upon rested silver, pendent and charms alike gentle as they struck one another, a song they were accustomed to, found a small measure of comfort within. Though their steps took them upon a different path easy was to tell where it ended, drawn closer to the lion, golden eyes gentle and soft, light with gentle childish innocence, as they offered him a smile.
Blinking – once, twice – they found their attention shifting, touching upon the canine, stranger to all. He seemed well cared for, given a look one might find upon a gentlemen with an easy grace about him, holding his weight as though it were nothing to him, yet words spoke of something else, bound in an accent the child proved curious of. Drawing closer, fearless and made stupid for it, Harland allowed his weight to rock back onto their back legs, lifting a paw to wave up at Bugsy.
“Har,” scratchy was the voice though the tone was one that seemed light, drawing to a close with a soft sound of worry as gaze shifted, finding the crimson upon him. “Hurt.” It was all Harland could muster, the tang of the blood not settling all that well though they had grown accustomed to ignoring the faint pangs within their stomach, the want to tear into flesh and allow blood to satisfy a hunger they were terrified of.
Blinking – once, twice – they found their attention shifting, touching upon the canine, stranger to all. He seemed well cared for, given a look one might find upon a gentlemen with an easy grace about him, holding his weight as though it were nothing to him, yet words spoke of something else, bound in an accent the child proved curious of. Drawing closer, fearless and made stupid for it, Harland allowed his weight to rock back onto their back legs, lifting a paw to wave up at Bugsy.
“Har,” scratchy was the voice though the tone was one that seemed light, drawing to a close with a soft sound of worry as gaze shifted, finding the crimson upon him. “Hurt.” It was all Harland could muster, the tang of the blood not settling all that well though they had grown accustomed to ignoring the faint pangs within their stomach, the want to tear into flesh and allow blood to satisfy a hunger they were terrified of.