Post by Silas Bloodthunder on Feb 28, 2008 21:05:17 GMT -5
Silas sat smiling in a high tree, the wind playing at his coat and chains with abandon. The sound of his whetting stone on one of the many daggers hidden about his person was steady and calm, and his smirk widened. The tree groaned and swayed, but he didn't mind the gentle rocking. The wind pulled at him as well as the tree, and seeing that it couldn't rouse him, moved deeper into the bare forest.
He liked it here. It was an amazing country, Romania, filled with all manner of things for him to study and learn. The air was clear, the travel of people scarce, and the hunting far too good. He was enjoying himself immensly. Considering how short a time it had been since his assassination days, he found the change of pace suitable. The other werewolves he assorted with didn't much appreciate wanton killing, no matter how much money was involved. he sighed. He didn't miss his work, just the excitement it brought. Still, a charming country all the same.
He heard off in the distance the baying of wolves. It made him chuckle some. He didn't know if it was something he understood entirely; as much time as he spent in his more bestial form, he had never experience the urge to howl. He held a keen facination of the moon since his turning, but never the rapture others seemed to have. Maybe it was an aquired taste. He wondered what it would feel like. He chuckled, louder this time, and went back to his knife.
He liked it here. It was an amazing country, Romania, filled with all manner of things for him to study and learn. The air was clear, the travel of people scarce, and the hunting far too good. He was enjoying himself immensly. Considering how short a time it had been since his assassination days, he found the change of pace suitable. The other werewolves he assorted with didn't much appreciate wanton killing, no matter how much money was involved. he sighed. He didn't miss his work, just the excitement it brought. Still, a charming country all the same.
He heard off in the distance the baying of wolves. It made him chuckle some. He didn't know if it was something he understood entirely; as much time as he spent in his more bestial form, he had never experience the urge to howl. He held a keen facination of the moon since his turning, but never the rapture others seemed to have. Maybe it was an aquired taste. He wondered what it would feel like. He chuckled, louder this time, and went back to his knife.
