.:. Bloodshed .:.

.. Obsidian spitfire eyes
the masculine, notes inhale his aroma. Bloodstained pools gaze into the
flashing orbs of the other. An artless reticence is exchanged, talons tearing
the sod. Soft zephyr whistles, blowing her locks away from her visionaries.
Orbicals take on a new hue; one of gentle tawny. Pillars slowly drift over
topography to meet the patriarch, chasms ever watching. ..

.:. The Unspoken .:.

We will see how long this
one will last. No one else dares approuch, which isn't bad, might I add.
This one seems strong, but yet posseses that firery spirit I cannot live
without.