It drew the youngling like a moth to a flame. Achlys knew not why his limbs carried him toward the scent. He only knew he must follow it. The cry, raw and blood curdling might make another wolf move in the opposite direction, but it only made his long inky limbs carry him quicker. Go. A sense of urgency tugging at the fibers of his soul pushed the youth, narrow head ever arched toward the earth slowing only as the scents of others beside the sweet stench found his minds eye.
There was ginger, rich but biting; a sharp orange─and something softer, blue and blacks of raven feathers. These were what he pictured when he breathed in the Elysiums scents. The boys movements drifted into lingering but confident motions; like he belonged here.
And then at the edge of the scene he sat proper, front paws tucked tightly against his body between his rear ones, ❝ Dazhe v Arkadii... ❞ he murmured, head tilting slightly at the way the lingering scents of death; the same, but different intermingled with one another in a final embrace.
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❝ speech ❞
which means if it hasn't happened in a thread ─ it hasn't happened!