[It is already perfect. Amongst the dog hair and wolf sheddings and the sleep deprived groaning of his protesting limbs— sore within their joints in a way that hinges very nearly on mortal (he hasn't fed properly in days, and he will in time, trust that spite is an excellent motivator even beside worry's timeless immobility), but acclimation comes in sips. In painful angles, like growing aches, where he doesn't know how to sleep across an unfamiliar mattress or predict which noises set him off. There's so much he finds grating, worrying, vexing, but now it bounces off the better pieces of this newfound picture as daylight spread itself across those rooftops where they stood together. Shaded, a little blinded, but no more worse for wear in actuality.
Better for it. ]
You've gotten better at your flattery.
[Starlight. He'd be twirling his own curls round clawed fingers were he a few centuries younger....and still living.]
I haven't yet decided. The great pup-wolf-after-midday war interrupted my internal debate, and I've yet to recover that lost time enough to ponder anything else even half as vital as the question: red or gold.
no subject
Better for it. ]
You've gotten better at your flattery.
[Starlight. He'd be twirling his own curls round clawed fingers were he a few centuries younger....and still living.]
I haven't yet decided. The great pup-wolf-after-midday war interrupted my internal debate, and I've yet to recover that lost time enough to ponder anything else even half as vital as the question: red or gold.