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And the stars are exploding in your eyes
It won't be long until you're running
It won't be long until you're running
There's a dead sweat breaking over her skin and she's trembling; whether from sheer exhaustion or fear she can't tell. It's become an incomprehensible blur, of running and chasing and Volterra beside her, and she's dog-gone tired but knows she must keep going. Even as her nerves scream at her for rest, she barrels on, ignoring the whining of her body in favor of saving lives, as Nym so considers it. Lil urges her on, taking as many thermals as he can on the way to give his wings rest.
When his thoughts twine to hers, concern twinging his admiration for his companion's endurance, she sees herself in his eyes. Her nostrils are flexed so wide they ribbon red, matching the ruby of her gaze, and it makes a faint smile queasily quirk up one side of her mouth. Mother would be proud of her— and speaking of which, where is her infamous World Eater?
A glimpse of Confutatis safe, tucked away in the Ark, rolls through Nym's scalp, and she glances towards his companion.
Of course he's right.
There rumbles in her ears another roar of warning, and she adjusts her path as to meet the perpetrator of the call. Ahead there forms a shape hard and sinewy, black and white and red, horned and winged both; an impressive and fearsome specimen. Another briefly passes by, but Nymeria feels no need to continue on her waltz without halt.
Others may have walked or trotted around, but she had galloped fast and long. A break would be well-deserved.
"Damn," the filly muses aloud. "I probably should've told those I came across where they were supposed to go..." A flash of irrational guilt rips through her. Eyes turn towards Destry and Phantom, lips shifting into a vaguely petulant scowl. "If my brother and I had wings, we would be able to beat you all."
Eyes flash indignantly at the unicorn mare's quiet words, lips curling back into a savage and unseemly snarl. "Mit gondolsz, miért ők Folyton mondom, hogy menjünk vissza? Nem tudják, mi vagyunk elég idős ahhoz, hogy figyeljen magunkat?" The Hungarian words are lovely on her tongue, filled with seething malice directed towards none; they're for Volterra's ears only, and she has no intent for any others to understand.
Perhaps she's to grow to be a bitch, but she's a clever one at that.
When his thoughts twine to hers, concern twinging his admiration for his companion's endurance, she sees herself in his eyes. Her nostrils are flexed so wide they ribbon red, matching the ruby of her gaze, and it makes a faint smile queasily quirk up one side of her mouth. Mother would be proud of her— and speaking of which, where is her infamous World Eater?
A glimpse of Confutatis safe, tucked away in the Ark, rolls through Nym's scalp, and she glances towards his companion.
Of course he's right.
There rumbles in her ears another roar of warning, and she adjusts her path as to meet the perpetrator of the call. Ahead there forms a shape hard and sinewy, black and white and red, horned and winged both; an impressive and fearsome specimen. Another briefly passes by, but Nymeria feels no need to continue on her waltz without halt.
Others may have walked or trotted around, but she had galloped fast and long. A break would be well-deserved.
"Damn," the filly muses aloud. "I probably should've told those I came across where they were supposed to go..." A flash of irrational guilt rips through her. Eyes turn towards Destry and Phantom, lips shifting into a vaguely petulant scowl. "If my brother and I had wings, we would be able to beat you all."
Eyes flash indignantly at the unicorn mare's quiet words, lips curling back into a savage and unseemly snarl. "Mit gondolsz, miért ők Folyton mondom, hogy menjünk vissza? Nem tudják, mi vagyunk elég idős ahhoz, hogy figyeljen magunkat?" The Hungarian words are lovely on her tongue, filled with seething malice directed towards none; they're for Volterra's ears only, and she has no intent for any others to understand.
Perhaps she's to grow to be a bitch, but she's a clever one at that.
Yes I lied, don't think about you all the time
All my switchblade words ain't aim to cut your sweet delusions
