Nyx.page

��-�-�� Nyx Sevante ��-�-��

...winged salvation...

A blustered winter night and an injured wing seemed unlikely circumstances, certainly. But neither the vampress nor ave ever placed the growth of a tentative friendship beneath any sort of magnifying glass. They were content in one another's company, and the satisfaction the coupling garnered. Things had no reason to change, and so they did not.

Yet even Cerise, for all her desired ignorance, was left to wonder at the dark hawk's empathic awareness. The creature sent her images, perceptions, impressions of the world from his view, through a carefully crafted mental conduit that seemed to have sprung up overnight.

Another oddity which she was willing to ignore in light of its beneficial qualities, but there would forever be the question adrift within impalpable thoughts. Was Nyx truly just a hawk, rescued and healed on a winter night?

It took a tear in the fabric of the Family to shed truth upon the situation. With her elder brother Egan in a torrential mental agony over a bloodbond to the sister Jardena, she had hoped distance would prevent its pull from worsening, putting him up in one of the many apartments she maintained about and around the small city. But like a drug to its addict, the ploy worked too well, and Egan was thrown into a state of viscious withdrawal. When Cerise finally made her way to the scene - a blood strewn apartment drenched in carnage - her brother, in a fit of confusion and bloodlust, attacked her before fleeing the scene himself in a fit of self-loathing.

Empathic perceptions, however, knew that another family member was near - too near, and she could not bear to allow Egan to bear the brunt of familial scorn, should attentions focus upon this recent string of activities. Her only, instinctive cry for aid went to that little black, rust, and silver hawk circling above in the night sky..

The avian, pressed by the will of its mistress, made quick work catching up to the form of Egan in flight. With Cerise far out of sight weaving in the streets beneath, it was only Egan who watched the awe-inspiring Shift..

Dark pinions remained, but they arched oddly, feathered branches and extremities growing in size and curving into more buffering archs, as though the weight they supported had grown considerably. Feathers of the figure itself seemed to recede, replaced by the paler glow of flesh. Members elongated and thickened, talons retracting into the forms of fingers and toes, accordingly to their respective locales. The neck shifted back onto broadening shoulders instead of to the fore, once piercing golden gaze now dulling to a more acceptable bronzen-amber glow. Instead of feathers, locks of fine, silken ebony, mingled by abrupt strands of silver and even the hawk's own russet, now framed the masculine facade, well-built form cloaked in dark, well fitted clothes, not a gleam of metal on him. He stood at a medium height, well-proportioned though a bit wiry, yet there was an obvious strength and power about him, as though not already presumed by the Shift. And all the change, all the alteration, had occured in the span of time it took to draw no more than a triad of breaths.

Gentle, persuasive words that bore the ripple of male personification pierced the tumultuous mind of the Latenat, like a breath of warm wind in the midst of the tundra's landscape. Assumptions that such words were not to be enough to hinder the male's continuance toward that set destination, allowed for digits of a single hand to curl about one of the other's wrists, tightening simply to a point of restraint as buffering angelic pinions folded, weight pulling the other from the sky. Calm. Soothe. She waits. Gentle words, spoken with a rush of warm reassurance across empath's surrounds, as the ground was met by booted feet. The sound of the harsh breathing and careless footfalls around the corner belonging to none other than his Mistress turned the male's ocher gaze for the briefest of moments and, waiting to the last possible moment, the reversal was instantaneous.

The little ave had taken up a perch on Egan's shoulder, preening through dark primaries. The bright bronzen glow to its gaze the only betraying hint at what might have transpired moments before the stars' little angel happened upon the scene.