[dohtml]
<p>
<center>
<div style="width:333px; border:1px solid #000000; background-color:#000000; color:#000000; padding:0px; font-size:10px; text-align:justify; line-height:10px"><img src="http://i140.photobucket.com/albums/r18/Rilyne/Haskyl1.png"><BR><BR>
<center>
<div style="width:333px; border:0px solid #000000 background-color:#000000; color:#FFFFFF; padding:0px; font-size:10px; text-align:justify; line-height:10px">
<font size=1 face=verdana color=#2176BB>
<blockquote>
<br>
<p>
<br>
<p><p>Though it was only late afternoon, the sky had been engulfed by a large blanket of dark gray, billowing clouds. Every now and then thunder pierced the sky with a whip-like crack, awakening the senses of the male who’d chosen to travel during the beginning of the storm. Though far away, the rain would probably start falling soon, and the distant flashes that adorned the dark sky like a strobe like were foreshadowing of a stronger storm to come. These were common in early autumn as the weathers clashed together, heat and cold. It was the first storm of the season, and until the weather sank and the first frost dusted the ground a few months from now, it would certainly not be the last.

<p>A gust of wind rippled through his summer thinned coat, ravishing the soft tans and grays into a tousled position. Haskyl honestly liked the stormy weather—the rain was cool and cleansing during the heat of autumn’s prelude. The cloud darkened sky offered sanctuary from the blazing heat of daytime sun, and though his light colored coat made him a good heat deflector… it offered him a sense of contentment. He couldn’t deny that he liked the gentle caress of the wind, so soft and teasing sometimes that it sent shivers down his spine—mother nature was sensual lady.

<p>His broad muzzle parted slightly, a transparent sigh escaping it. Two eyes, one of deep brown... the other ice blue offered a glance about his surroundings. The exchange was done in curiosity, a slight hint of boredom appearing on his features—though boredom could often be affiliated as a trademark look to the young male. The wind could only entertain him for so long with her gentle foreplay before he got bored of her actions—he needed a new place to travel to. Muzzle prying open, he brought forth a large yawn, his teeth glinting proudly, still white with youth. Often teeth yellowed over time, and if anything the opaque ivory gems that lined his powerful jaws were a good indication of his young age, if nothing else. Though not sharp like a feline’s they had a wonderful grip and coupled with a strong, tearing hold it was enough to make victims only wish he’d have left a clean incision in place of such nasty tears.

<p>The slight snapping of raindrops beginning to hit the dry ground beneath him made Haskyl painfully aware that his throat was just as parched as the dry land beneath and, and no amount of getting his exterior wet was going to fix that, nor was he going to tilt his head up and try to gargle such a light drizzle. The springs had been drained during the flood, but there was quite a handsome lake near by that Haskyl was more than ready to delve in to.

<p>Arising to his black paws, a stark contrast to the rest of his body, the male retired his reclined position in search of greater fortunes. He set off at an easy lope, his long sturdy legs blessing him with a long gait that carried him easily to wherever location he pleased, unless it was a ridiculously far area. He wasn’t really a sprinter, but he could cover land with efficient timing, and his endurance training had affected more areas than just his combat skills. If he calculated correctly, the lake was merely a few miles away, and that was nothing more than a warm up run to the regal wolf species. He took note to the wind whistling pleasantly in his ear, whispering secrets and promises with a heavy breath, ticking his fur. Why must she tease him so? The wind must being to understand that the wind was no longer his only friend, and perhaps would soon not be his only love affair.

<p>Arriving at the lake the male drew to a halt, pacing up to the lake and for a moment he gazed at his appearance, slightly disturbed by the light drizzle. He looked a lot like his father, though his features were not concealed by dark fur. With painstaking definition, his face was broad and even handsome—his father hadn’t bore devastingly good looks and forgotten to pass them down to his children. However, his looks had always been plated with a feral feeling… the face of a sadist, Jale’s good looks were often daunted by the haunting mask he wore. Haskyl, with his often placid expression bore the more regal look that Jale might have displayed proudly had his expressions not been so distracting. He was thick set like his father, not a slender sprinter, but more of a tank. This was good though, because it helped to ensure that Falich would never fold during a fight. The wildly muscular frame was offset nicely by lean, lengthy legs, as to not give him a pit bull appearance. His mother had given him a handsome coat—it was just a shame that he’d never inherited kinder eyes from her.

<p>Leaning down, a salmon colored tongue escaped, ladling water into his mouth that soothed his dry throat. His reflection in the backdrop of a stormy sky was immersed in rippled of water, has his tongue repeatedly darted out, greedily drawing in more sustenance. After a moment, he lifted his head up again, scanning the forest around them. There wasn’t much to do, and should he not find a more suitable form of occupation, he would again resort to training, sprinting about the territory under the foreboding flashes of the darkened sky.

<br>
<p>
<p>

</font>
</align>
</center></div>
</center></div>
</center>
[/dohtml]

ooc - <333 So sorry this was late! Forgive me?

Past noon, and the after had been marinated with a surreal aspect; a touch of drunken fog.

It was brisk, as it always was in the earlier months of Autumn and, especially so when so close to the water. The atmosphere was dotted with linear light, so that only the slightest strands stretched themselves across the grass and evergreens, making it sweat with humidity and the pine needles creak with anticipation. Here, however, there was little of both. Strange as it seemed, as close as this scene was to the lake, there was much more earth and not nearly enough shrubbery.

The ground was both soft and brittle, fitting into that difficult category between clay and dirt. It wasn't cold, but rather cool, and in dry-terms, oddly pleasing. Soothing almost. And the stagnant rush of the water cooing placidly to the shore, fusing with the way it rubbed against it's surreal edges, was more calming than eerie. It sounded peaceful, and ever so distant as the minutes turned into hours.

Demure golden eyes callously searched the foreground , followed by hushed footfalls on a soft ground. Gaze was momently centered, body following its curves. His neck inched but creases forward, ears radiating and shoulders rolling backward in a rough yet limber motion, so that his feet pulsated in an easy swagger. He looked the picture of calm; hooded, quiet, and ever-alert.

Chestnut fur fur was ignited by blond, his surroundings playing part in this subtle transformation. The gray blue of the sky, the silver light of the lake, and the reflection of the water; all was key to highlight the brilliant coloration, otherwise hidden from view when seen at a glance. When he moved, his coat swayed in time with his morose pace, and the coarse outline of muscle and bone heightened this intense vision. The harsh line of his jaw, and the contours of his eyes, where cast into deep shadows. Contorted by his canine teeth, the black mask was pierced through with flashes of both black and white. The arch of his back fell till it was shaping his hindlegs, taunt with tendons, made from former athleticism.

He walked with a casual step that intertwined with his pressing swagger. He was always so relaxed; always at ease, in control. His face - ever serious but completely blank - gave way to his eyes, which seemed to be the pathway to his emotions. His antique colorations were slightly narrowed, for his brow had taken on the faintest of creases, pursing together in ebbing strength.

Ears rose at the sound of a splash, a way down the lake, and his head turned to one side, eyes squinting so as to see clearer. Immediately long, black shadows filled the depressions in his skin, the hollows of his build. Slick, shining light rebelled off of ebony fur, skimming over hooded black eyes. Every bone in his his face seemed amplified; more pronounced. The corner of his mouth twitched, lips raising in a thoughtful smile. He looked. . . rough; natural. . . intense.

Curious.

And it was his curiosity that pulled him along, farther down the river, deceptive though his gait. It was until he saw him, though as backward as it was, that he slowed to a tepid crawl.

His eyes widened in interest, but he did not stop until he was at the water's edge, perhaps four or so feet away from him; ever the bold wolf. He looked as if he were pleased, the way his cheekbones arched and refined, as his mind recalled the name and status of the male that stood before him. Haskyl - wise. . . athletic - and generally; a very civil creature.

'Out for an afternoon stroll?'he queried in a thicky slurred voice.

Sometime he could be so oblivious to his actions.

[dohtml]
<p>
<center>
<div style="width:333px; border:1px solid #000000; background-color:#000000; color:#000000; padding:0px; font-size:10px; text-align:justify; line-height:10px"><img src="http://i140.photobucket.com/albums/r18/Rilyne/Haskyl1.png"><BR><BR>
<center>
<div style="width:333px; border:0px solid #000000 background-color:#000000; color:#FFFFFF; padding:0px; font-size:10px; text-align:justify; line-height:10px">
<font size=1 face=verdana color=#2176BB>
<blockquote>
<br>
<p>
<br><p>I love your imagery. It’s so pretty, but not over the top or hard to understand. :3

<p>For a long moment, he stood with his head so inclined toward the rain adorned lake surface, his tongue relentlessly taking water with a greed that could almost run the lake dry. The water felt wonderful, slipping down his throat like streams of silk, ravishing the parched tissue back into a state of contentment. Lifting his head up, a few droplets of water fell from his chin, adding to the dance of raindrops disrupting the lake. Such reflections as his own were most certainly distorted now, as the water succumbed to distortion, though his coat still repelled the cumbersome precipitation that attacked his fur.

<p>The muted sound of footfalls began to breach past the rapping of the light drizzle, quietly signifying their own individuality. He didn’t notice the slow, abnormal pace of the approaching creature until he was a mere ten yards away from Haskyl—it seemed that the small pull of wind today was in the approaching character’s favor, for not a trace of his scent lingered on the nearly stagnant air. However, it was obvious that this wolf was of the pack before Haskyl even graced a glance in the stranger’s direction, for no loner should be dumb enough to trespass such powerful scent boundaries—nor stalk him in such an open area.

<p>Flicking his muzzle in the direction of the footfalls, Haskyl immediately recognized the supposed stranger as being Rafe. He quirked a brow, as though inquiring why Rafe was traveling so sluggishly toward him—heck, he was sure no wolf but an injured one could travel so leisurely, and Rafe most certainly bore no gimp, nor the potent aroma of an injury. He let out a slight snort at Rafe’s behavior, but none the less turned his body toward the approaching male, watching him intently as he closed the distance between them, pausing at an abnormally close proximity to a male he hadn’t spoken two words to. However, Haskyl let this fact pass, as Rafe’s humorous display toward Dakota had relinquished any animosity Haskyl may have held toward the male by default.

<p>He cocked his head slightly as Rafe made an inquiry, though he was more drawn to the pleased look that lay light upon Rafe’s face. Rafe couldn’t possibly be pleased to see Haskyl—all Haskyl had done at the pack meeting was offer a few words to Macabre, and otherwise stand there by her side. Perhaps he was recalling something humorous, or perhaps there was something funny about Haskyl. Or maybe he was basking in the afterglow of something recent; Haskyl decided that he’d probably gotten laid or something.

<p>“<b>Why yes, I am</b>,” he replied casually, his voice hinting at little emotion, though his eyes glimmering with a bit more humor as his retaliating question bubbled in his mind. “<b>As you seem to be. Though I’m stunned to see your brother Dakota not with you, the affinity radiating through your conversation at the meeting was overwhelmingly tangible</b>,” he joked, lightly poking fun at their previous meeting. Though without a doubt, Haskyl was on Rafe’s side—Dakota seemed like an unpleasant character to spend time with in excess, and it must have been torture sharing an indirect relationship with the male.

<p>“<b>How on earth did you subject yourself to his petty ranting? It was painful for me to hear bits of, I can’t imagine the burden it must be to be subject of such a sad display of derogatory statements. Claiming superiority with a slightly higher height? Pitiful</b>,” he murmured, obviously sympathizing with the ex-Likuta mountain wolf. He was pleased to have a meeting with the wolf, however, because he could inquire some useful information about the other existing wolfs that had shared alliance with Likuta. This guy seemed easy to get along with, and some information would do Haskyl well. In fact, he could almost see the potential for making his second friend that wasn’t family.

<p>
<br>
<p>
<p>


</font>
</align>
</center></div>
</center></div>
</center>
[/dohtml]

[dohtml]
<blockquote>

<font style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-size: 10px;">
<p align=justify>
[Aww you're too sweet x3]
<p align=justify>
The jaded shadow drifted discreetly over the gravel, paws barely scraping the sewn floors of decomposing leaves and sickly turf. His eclectic aura bringing little but an eerie crackling spawning from his heels. At once, the translucent gospel of chirping insects and trembling leaves seemed to silence each other and the whistling blades of grass fell back into their protective hall of shadow. Tsk...spiteful creatures, quivering under the absence of summer’s warmth. There was no sanctuary of heat to feed their wants, to encircle them with heat and nourishment. They’d be dead by winter.
<p align=justify>
The ebon male in question nurtured an atypical expression, lips bearing the slightest hint of a grin as if he were pleased by the company he had sighted. Paws that powdered across the moist turf, brushing by in a smooth of colours, carried the male lethargically along his trail. The smile, in the right mind, was not one of estranged pleasure. More a recognition of first impressions. He was partial to those who acknowledged ignorance in a conversation, as he was to those who were wise enough to pick up on the subtle points he would raise. A worthy wolf, in Rafe’s standards, needed not to be brilliant. However, a pressing mind and a skill range in logic or wit were required to engage this rare display of pleasure.
<p align=justify>
" Why yes, I am..." A voice informal and amused sounded in his ears. The tone was welcomed, the tune of responsive conversation, antagonism holding no grounds; ears pricked to intake his display of humour. A wide chest enveloping powerful lungs rose and fell as shallow breaths gave way to gentle laughter. The deep baritone hung in heavy scales, compared to his companion, whose words were light, teasing...almost. " Claiming superiority with a slightly higher height? Pitiful " The wet tones of mirth subdued, conforming into the familiar mixture of humour and scorn.
”Yes...he must’ve needed those extra heights above me, compensation I suppose” he muttered, directing a perverse joke between Dakota’s hind legs.
<p align=justify>
’So tell me, what persuaded you to leave Tyjiik and join Macabre’s little following?’ he questioned, turning his congenial gaze back towards the male’s own. Ah...the monotony of small talk. Such wolves as himself chose this method until the subjects were more acquainted, more comfortable with each other. Though Haskyl appeared to harbour no hostility toward him, this would earn proof in the coming conversation. ”I take it you desired more than a change of scenery?”
<p align=justify>
[short >( ]
</font>

[/dohtml]