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i am the vanguard of your destruction
"Greetings," a sparrow called, pecking helplessly for life upon a statue of marble. The little beak of her presence hacking, hacking, hacking, but could she find what she looked for in the presence of an ice revenant? The warmth of her voice was salt in his wounds, threatening someone who had already burned with a fire-brand, and his first reaction was a low, rumbling growl. Fortunately, she was still a ways away, and shouldn't hear it.
But the sound of her approach was there, stealing through the softness of the night, and slowly, it forced him from inaction to action. His massive neck turned, blue eyes muted to silver in the night-light, and stared at her—a deer coming to the wolf.
The sparrow and the owl.
Sharp starlight washed her contours in silver, darkened her shadows, and made her seem something out of a dream. The faint, early foliage of spring dappled her further, made her slip in and out of reality; in the shadows, a mortal, in the light, something ethereal, light, graceful.
It burned his eyes. It burned his soul. She was beautiful, and that hurt, because other beautiful things were no more, jackals and hawks. It burned, and it hurt, but he was already in pain and it called forth no new tears. He didn't have any left. His eyes had dried up and his heart was stone, healing beneath a hard shield.
She had to be young. Not because she moved lightly despite coming face to face with a stranger whose eyes were colder and harder than steel, but because she thought it was a good idea to blab her name and nickname at him as if it mattered. As if he would be delighted to make yet another shallow connection in this fucked-up world. Behind him, his white tail lashed once at his hocks, its flowing motion traced by silver light.
"No," he finally responded, wanting to see the joy go out of her eyes, the youthful friendliness fade—he wanted to crush it beneath his frosted feet, to drink it in.
A moment's respite from his own pain. Let's forget the guilt you'll feel tomorrow, love.
The black anger was too easy to give into, to hide behind, to let himself be devoured by blind wrath—but he held back, something, a little, his quietly smoldering eyes focused on her.
Giving her a chance to run.
But if she was young, and dainty, and dancing so elegantly towards a stranger she didn't know, he doubted she'd know she was playing with toys that had triggers.
Would it be his fault if he blew up in her face, then?
That would depend on how clear you are with wanting her to leave.
Irma stirred in the darkness, her amused voice floating across the distance and to his spinning mind. She was ruthless—far more so than he—and as she leaped off her branch to take to the sky, Diego stirred, and followed her.
If you're going to hunt, Irma was saying, slowly gliding closer on silent wings, we're coming with you. A joint echo, a promise from two souls, and Mauja, his head turned somewhat away from the mare, let his eyes slide sideways as he peered at her. His dark lips tilted into a wicked grin.
"Fancy being my quarry tonight?" His voice, his eyes, his posture, screamed danger.
[ uhm lol oops @[Malificent] and sorry for double tag but I just realized you got my 900th post <33 grats! ]
But the sound of her approach was there, stealing through the softness of the night, and slowly, it forced him from inaction to action. His massive neck turned, blue eyes muted to silver in the night-light, and stared at her—a deer coming to the wolf.
The sparrow and the owl.
Sharp starlight washed her contours in silver, darkened her shadows, and made her seem something out of a dream. The faint, early foliage of spring dappled her further, made her slip in and out of reality; in the shadows, a mortal, in the light, something ethereal, light, graceful.
It burned his eyes. It burned his soul. She was beautiful, and that hurt, because other beautiful things were no more, jackals and hawks. It burned, and it hurt, but he was already in pain and it called forth no new tears. He didn't have any left. His eyes had dried up and his heart was stone, healing beneath a hard shield.
She had to be young. Not because she moved lightly despite coming face to face with a stranger whose eyes were colder and harder than steel, but because she thought it was a good idea to blab her name and nickname at him as if it mattered. As if he would be delighted to make yet another shallow connection in this fucked-up world. Behind him, his white tail lashed once at his hocks, its flowing motion traced by silver light.
"No," he finally responded, wanting to see the joy go out of her eyes, the youthful friendliness fade—he wanted to crush it beneath his frosted feet, to drink it in.
A moment's respite from his own pain. Let's forget the guilt you'll feel tomorrow, love.
The black anger was too easy to give into, to hide behind, to let himself be devoured by blind wrath—but he held back, something, a little, his quietly smoldering eyes focused on her.
Giving her a chance to run.
But if she was young, and dainty, and dancing so elegantly towards a stranger she didn't know, he doubted she'd know she was playing with toys that had triggers.
Would it be his fault if he blew up in her face, then?
That would depend on how clear you are with wanting her to leave.
Irma stirred in the darkness, her amused voice floating across the distance and to his spinning mind. She was ruthless—far more so than he—and as she leaped off her branch to take to the sky, Diego stirred, and followed her.
If you're going to hunt, Irma was saying, slowly gliding closer on silent wings, we're coming with you. A joint echo, a promise from two souls, and Mauja, his head turned somewhat away from the mare, let his eyes slide sideways as he peered at her. His dark lips tilted into a wicked grin.
"Fancy being my quarry tonight?" His voice, his eyes, his posture, screamed danger.
[ uhm lol oops @[Malificent] and sorry for double tag but I just realized you got my 900th post <33 grats! ]
