10-15-2018, 11:44 PM
[align=center][div style="width:450px; font-size:8.6pt;line-height:1.2; color:#000;font-family:calibri;margin-top:3px;margin-bottom:3px;margin-left:0px;text-align:justify;"]Breath caught in the throat raising in a hiccup, peek of blue behind the cinnamon dusted paws. Sheen is there, brightened with tears gathered in the curve of lower lids, nose scrunched until grimace contours soft features. Another squeak escaping them, paws raising in hopes to touch upon the snout of the raptor that holds them but they can't quite reach, barely brushing skin so like leather. Though slight is the shift of their weight, movement enough to jostle them and feel the bite of teeth dug into the base of their tail, it is enough to upset them further.
Again those noises, strange and unstructured, unlike any they had heard before this moment. Lips press together and they offer a soft hum before mouth opens once more, tongue clicking against the roof of their mouth. Weak attempt is it to mimic the sounds Maise makes, nothing like the easy way she communes with the others about her, but they continue it. Over and over, click of tongue pressing to the roof of mouth before huff of breath laced with disappointment.
“Mmmr,” gentle sound passing lips that have picked up a faint tremble, paws fidgeting, circling each other as they struggle to put into any response what had happened. Caught in cinnamon toned fur one may pick up on the sharp stench of gunpowder, faded some now, worn by the salt the air held within a tight hold, copper of blood a faint hint beneath. There was no injury upon the child themself, at least upon the surface, speaking of the fact it was the blood of another washed away some time ago.
Again those noises, strange and unstructured, unlike any they had heard before this moment. Lips press together and they offer a soft hum before mouth opens once more, tongue clicking against the roof of their mouth. Weak attempt is it to mimic the sounds Maise makes, nothing like the easy way she communes with the others about her, but they continue it. Over and over, click of tongue pressing to the roof of mouth before huff of breath laced with disappointment.
“Mmmr,” gentle sound passing lips that have picked up a faint tremble, paws fidgeting, circling each other as they struggle to put into any response what had happened. Caught in cinnamon toned fur one may pick up on the sharp stench of gunpowder, faded some now, worn by the salt the air held within a tight hold, copper of blood a faint hint beneath. There was no injury upon the child themself, at least upon the surface, speaking of the fact it was the blood of another washed away some time ago.