Nightmares and violent shapes
the state of dreaming
has left me numb

CRACK!!
He wasn’t sure if the sound of apparently frail horns cracking while still atop his skull or the sound of another tree limb finding itself being ripped from it’s main body.
“Fuck.”
Hobgoblin grunts something towards him. Had his mother been listening? Was she using her companion to spy on his every move, or was it that she thought that he might like the idea of being a ‘fearsome’ future warlord by installing a being that didn’t care for consequences on his side? Lips rise as he watches him yawn, raising a head high as the pink insides of his mouth flash. Black spots speckle the silver underbelly of the seal.
Yea, it was because of his personality.
A quick sweep of the floor brings no broken shards of glass, but he is not easily fooled. In play that had suddenly become more rough, especially as Hobgoblin had taken it, he’d driven a near permanent crack into his horn, letting the tip of the right one now be haunted by the constant reminder that some part of him is forced to be weak. Young muscles are being fast to gather and build beneath his stretching hide of night, but yet the moons for that night, his horns, eyes, possibly ears, are all frail and useless. It upsets him more than he lets people know, and while his ears are becoming better at catching words and letting his mouth form them ‘correctly’ now, his eyes aren’t doing that. A gift of a white blindfold wraps itself around his neck like a noose.
“Hobgoblin!”
Black eyes are staring at him now, he can feel them move across his skin, dragging slowly as they look for something. A large step rotates his body with some sort of ungraceful maneuver. He is built for war, not the gracefulness of some of the small beings in his home. In the thin sunlight, muscles ripple below the sheen of his coat, specifically groomed well for this occasion. A growing head slips downwards to the seal’s eye level, moons shutting as he does so.
“Did my horns break?”
Again, more intense inspection of his head, ears twitching as he tries to make out the changing of lines on Hobgoblin’s face. Nothing.
Eyelids rise and he finds himself in the eyes of the beast, frowning as the teeth in his jaws becomes increasingly more noticeable. The sadden, frail, thin, weak corpse of the tree that he’d be headbutting into is leans, bent and broken with a face that would of read of pain if it had gone. The only thing holding it into a single piece is a splintered wound.
CRACK!
In his head, he thinks to himself, at least my horns didn’t break.

OOC: Hobgoblin is with him for kicks c':

"Talk."

zhu