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Wolf of Covington Sketch

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I usually don't like to submit just sketches, and this will go into scraps in a bit, but I wanted to show what I've been doing lately, since my recent deviations are in a certain style. I've been trying to do more painting lately, just as a therapeutic thing between classes, and since class is out until Wednesday, I've been able to get some work done.

I'll post the little lead-in I posted with this at studiommo.com :)

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Her friends called her Red, though her mother was never fond of the name. In some way though, it suited her, even beyond the scarlet cape she always wore. At one and twenty years of age, she was fast approaching what her mother liked to call the age of 'tainted goods', a time by which no fine upstanding gentleman would find her pure enough to overlook her faults. It was not that Red was not a handsome woman, but her outspoken nature lead most men to wish she was not half so fetching, if only her mouth would stay closed. At least, that's what her mother always said.

And so Red set out for the city, to run correspondence and goods between her mother and a dear friend. A dear friend who just so happened to have a son of admirable birth and imperfect hearing. But Red soon grew restless of the sleepy path that curled along the foothills, and lead her horse along a less-noticable path that snaked its way through the forest.

As clean snow fell over the well-worn path, she began to lose her way, finding herself deep inside the wood. What had once been a light breeze of flurries quickly swept Red into a bone-chilling snowstorm, and she abandoned her carriage in search of the light she swore she had seen only moments before.

After an hour of riding, the trees seemed to thin, and the light grew stronger, until Red was sure it was real - a light inside a window, shining on some distant estate. With just a few more steps, she was brought ever-closer to the looming mansion that revealed itself in the snowy onslaught.

Her gaze hung upon that chilled window, and the relief its inner light would surely bring. And as she neared, a man stepped out onto the balcony, dressed finely, as though awaiting her timely arrival.

A tiny voice gave cry in her mind, warning her of the possible danger. Yet the growl in her stomach and the ice in her bones spoke louder than any squeak of caution, and still she pressed on. Her dainty shoes clicked over the frozen stone pathway, and her gaze flicked from the winged wolf guardians adorning it, back to the balcony, now bare. As her frozen hand closed over the door's handle, she briefly recalled a tale her mother had told her once - the story of the Wolf of Covington, who welcomed in young women with the misfortune of finding their way to his home, treating them with the utmost charm and pleasantry, feeding them and pouring them limitless wine. Yet these women were never seen again. Only the skulking form of a wolf-like beast, moving before the windows.

But her mother was fond of stories. And as Red turned the handles, pulling open the massive doors, she remembered that she was not quite fond of her mother, and pushed the thought from her mind.
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