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05-07-2015, 09:13 PM
Lakota
The Poisoner "Andare." And with love in his eyes he had turned to her, bid her to run, to leave him so that he may fight in her stead one more time in a long line of being her protector. Lakota had always listened to her big brother, and even as hatred blossomed in her chest for Alleo's opponent, she had wrenched her head away from him to turn and flee. But the invasion was over. They had won. And nothing, not even the Gods themselves, would keep her from her brother's side. Aodaun was hot on her heels, keeping stride with her as she turned and kicked her form forward. Long legs ate up the ground until she could feel the earth reverberating hard up her forelimbs, body lean and elongated as she pushed herself farther, faster. Nares were bright on her dark face, eyes wild. A thousand thoughts buzzed in her head, white noise laced in panic and fear. What if he lost? Is he okay? What if she hurt him? That bitch I will slit her throat and crush her ribcage until she drowns in her own filthy blood if she hurt him! Aodaun snarled at her side, fangs coated in saliva at the idea, the pair a vicious tag team of vengeance. "FRATELLO!" It knocked against her teeth on a desperate cry, swallowing up the noise inside her head for a brief moment, the familiarity of the word a temporary shackle to her sanity. She had only just found him, and it hurt to have him so far from her again. She felt as if she was floating dangerously off the earth, he the atmosphere that kept her from drifting away, the gravity that kept her sound and safe against the grass. Heart pounded out a rhythm of despair, and she could feel memories crowding into her head. The landscape before her wobbled and shifted to a different environment, a thousand bloodied battlefields that they'd marched into together. Lakota remembered what it was like to have him there at her side, eyes dark and far away. She could still recall the promises they would murmur to one another, the vows to return safe, to at least return alive. She would sooner die at his side than live a life without him. "Where are you," she gasped out, heaving her breaths as foam built on her slim hips and in the corners of her mouth. "Fratello!" Lakota didn't give a damn what the others thought of her, didn't care if they thought her crazed. She didn't care about them. She wanted her brother. And if that bitch added a single new scar to his already war-torn hide, Lakota would not let her breathe another breath before the season was over. Alleo had lost so much because of Lakota, he had suffered and sacrificed and never gotten a damn thing of worth because of it. He had turned on his own herd for her. Their transgressions were forgiven in blood and battle as they always had been, and all Lakota wanted was to find him, to tend to his wounds as she always had. He had been the one to teach her to be gentle, to soften her touch. He had taught her every herb and poison she knew, and it had always been her who had cared for him in the aftermath. Without that familiar tradition, she felt lost, frantic. How could she know if he would be cared for right, if it wasn't her who tended to him? Where was he?! LAKOTA! The mare spun towards her bonded, deep furrows scratched carelessly into the soft earth as she wrenched her momentum the other way instinctively towards his call. Sharp lime eyes caught hers, then wrenched away towards a cloud, unmistakable shape in the distance. Her heart jumped into her throat, and she choked on a whimper of his name to see familiar carmine blooming on his skin. Hadn't they escaped that when they were younger? Hadn't she personally vowed to herself to never force him into war again? When she had found him in Helovia...Lakota had thought that maybe he could finally be at peace. Yet there he was, bloody and bruised, because of her. A deep, abiding hatred for her leaders stirred briefly in her belly. It was temporary, but it drove her forward, sweat-soaked skin like a starless night as she stumbled and raced towards him almost drunkenly. Please Torfa let him be okay, she prayed uncharacteristically, seeking out the gods of her homeland instinctively, habitually, rather than those of Helovian origin. "Fratello!" she cried, voice ragged with her screaming. She barely managed to skid to a stop rather than crash right into him. Large though he may be, and massive in comparison to her own frame, he was wounded and she could not seek that kind of violent reunion with him. No matter how familiar. Violet eyes fell to his wounds, to the scraped legs and bleeding neck, the horribly clawed frame. Midnight ears fell back so hard they seemed to try and fit themselves right into her skull, teeth bared in her most vicious, bloodthirsty expression. "I'll kill her," she spat, fire and vengeance in her eyes as Aodaun prowled between their legs. |
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