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Now that my table seems to have stopped having a temper tantrum...
To my last breath I am someone to hate Years. Years of nothing. Of no purpose. No home. No family. Of wandering from place to place. And now he found himself here. The thoroughbred Pegasus flicked a wing in annoyance as a fly buzzed curiously too close. If the heat had allowed him the energy, Dalibor would have turned and snapped up the fly in his teeth, spit it on the ground and crushed it beneath a hoof. His hawkish gaze was not appraising as he looked around, the compact warrior moving with militaristic precision. This place, wherever it was and whatever it was named, was far too damn hot. Easy to fly... he thought, glancing up at the blistering star in the sky spitting out its heat with little regard to the life boiling and suffering below. If I felt like the fucking effort. What new hell had he managed to wander into now? It was most certainly not the place run by the spikeheads, that much was clear. When Dalibor had taken to the sky to leave that pit of debauched slavery he had pointed himself due East and kept flying until he could not hold up his own weight even with the aid of air currents. He'd gone to ground then and that time had been...busy, if morally questionable. Tiring of that life he now found himself surrounded by trees with a dead-hanging sun in the middle of the damn sky, trying to bake him in his skin. At least the flora was providing shade where it could; even then, the air was thick and heavy, bloated, like a corpse too long in water. Raptorial yellow eyes flitted from tree to tree, seeking out any useful signs of life. The Pegasus stallion was lesser in size, but in no way lacking in violence, and his temper was short. He wanted to know where the hell he was and what sort of place this was. Now.  |
