The Lynx & Whitewater

The crabs were at it again.  Each dawn like clockwork the tides would fall away, and like clockwork, the beach was swarmed with hundreds of the  crustaceans, creaking and hissing as they scuttled along in their odd little shuffle. Tyrian had never particularly liked seafood, preferring the richer meat of the rabbits or odd bird he caught. Their scent was too pungent, and their shells would more then not end up as brittle shards caught in his teeth. But they were interesting, and like every other time he managed to witness this strange event, the lynx found himself crouched low over the sands, nose just shy of a swift bite from the angered cretins claws. It was a weird dance, one shuffle forward, one shuffle back, the luminous violet eyes slanted in mirth as he evaded the ire of his partner.  He was tease, he knew, and he knew one day he would be given his just dues, but he would like to think he was perhaps smarter than the average crab. It was a monotonous day, full of completely idle hours, each designated to equally monotonous tasks. The world had seemed to fall into a haze since the darkening, with no one seeming to know what to do or how to put the mess to right. Tyrian had heard rumours, whispers of a group at fault, some sort of deranged cult looking to end magic, sap the Moonflow dry. He had always known of its importance, couldn’t ignore it with the lessons being shoved down his throat by the Clave, but he never felt particularly close to its grace. Not until of course he knew what it was to feel cold all the time. His magic was gone, his life felt hollow and fleeting. Already, Tyrian had known what it was to lose a friend, fading like the last light of twilight. Wolves he had known for centuries, had seen come into being as the very grinding of the mountains, slow and persistent. It was how they had always lived, stubborn bastards who had all the time in the world to come to a decision, often times indecisive and taking forever to get anything done. Now, it seemed they had no time at all, his paws sinking into the sand, leaving him unsteady and tense. The Moonflow had forgotten them; strangers in a land that had once been their home. He sneered, his paw swiping out, knocking the crab onto its back, where it’s legs trembled in the air. Helpless and pathetic. ""

the darkening sunk itself into her bones and simmered away the magic that she cultivated until it was nothing but a memory. when once orithyia could hear the whispers of stardusts that glittered around her, now she could only hear an echoing voice. and yet, she clung onto the hope that one day, the magic that vanished will come back anew. and it was with this hope that she hung onto the air currents and let it carry her away from her territory. here she heard the world quiet down and the clouds muting the skies as the sky stirs and tremble. a rain shower may be coming soon and it would do her well if she finds someplace to land. 

vyseria beach was always a quiet and hospitable shelter to her. and it is disheartening to realize she could never have a place all to herself. this land was never hers to begin with. no, not even her own cliff-throne was hers, despite the centuries she had lived there. she knew though, that deep in her bones she would rather forsake it one day for the lands beyond. orithyia was a selfish woman, and selfish women seldom let anything chain her down. 

she saw him first. a man with glowing markings that reminded her of the northern lights. but orithyia knows little of how to announce her presence. liquid amber eyes focused upon the shape of him, jaws hanging loose trying to verbalize a greeting. no words come out and she realizes just how much easier it was to convey her speeches through telepathy. an air current wakes, slipping its fingers through her fur and catching underneath her feathers. her iridescent body glitters with every movement as wings fold and unfold until the feathers slide across the sand. then, she feels a snap within her mind, a change in her demeanor, and she feels herself drawing closer with growing confidence. 

what a fun game... her voice was soft and hoarse, cracked open from the years of neglect. she sensed frustration in his movements and saw the twist of his features. amber eyes slip downwards at the crab and her mouth pulls into a crooked grin. she allows herself to move onto her haunches, scales and feathers sliding against her body, colors melting into each other and changing with each quake of her body. will you take it as food? words slowly simmered into a whisper, curiosity peaking into deadly focus as orithyia patiently waits and watches.  

ooc: sorry for the shit writing lol i rewrote this 2842904 times