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08-04-2016, 11:36 PM
i never said i'd stay to the end
Sea salt feels good in her lungs. It could be frozen and full of ice like the kind that she breathed in day in and day out in her childhood, confined to the North in the belly of Frostfall, or it could just be like it is now: warm, humid, full of life while seemingly dull, sweet with a hint of bitterness. She loves it with every bit of her heart and soul because it warms her to core.
Waves ruffle her completely. With is left of her that is currently untouched by the ocean is caressed by late night winds, forelock coaxing more breezes onward as the rough ends curl up. Sleep has nearly taken her as her eyelids sink, but sleep is a brave, stupid idea.
There is no safety to salt water, no matter how much one may believe that it is a wondrous thing with thousands of discoveries to be made. Hobgoblin is hunting the sharks no more than 20 meters from where she has decided to tuck herself into, and they in return don’t dare to hunt him. He makes proud meals out of them as he throws their dying and lifeless corpses into the air, small bodies flying for brief seconds as his jaws lose their grip on them in an attempt to tear chunks off of them. There isn’t a lot of blood, but when it is spilt, the meal’s living companions are greedy and lustful, sprinting upon his meal and trying to take it from him.
He repays them in bite marks and torn flesh, bleeding wounds and scars that will make them remember that the Dragon’s Throat is the domain of a Leopard Seal that isn’t really one, far out of place but still residing here.
She doesn’t nothing to stop him. Hunger is common to plague him when they corral themselves inland, locked by miles of ground and no sea within sight. One could believe that there is a plethora of mice, squirrels, even damned scorpions that yes, he’s already long since learned his lesson from with eating, but the small game that makes a well meal for him is never enough. He lives for the living bounty of the sea. It all fits well into his jaws as far as he is concerned, tears apart in the way that instinct tells him is the way to rip pieces from his food(by thrashing it against the surface of the water), and makes him fat in response. Sikeax doesn’t indulge him often as of late, so when the time comes, he is a merciless killer.
Glows taunt her in the night. It’s not the blinding kind, but more of the warm, gentle hum that makes eyelids lightly flutter with distaste and soft, meaningless annoyance, the type that really isn’t bad, just rising from how tired one is. The craning of her crowned skull is slow, pushing it outwards on her neck as she tries to catch a better view.
From afar, she discovers that the bridge has been activated. The body, or unknowingly bodies crossing it give her the faint hope that it’s the small clutch of hearts that she knows completely in this place, something different and happy and warm against Hobgoblin’s cold, merciless lust for murder.
I’m going.
He doesn’t give a response. It’s not like him to give a response to her when he is in this state of mind, but there is wisdom that comes with their attachment that tells her that he knows either way.
The waves push her well until she is onto the wet sand, making graves with her hooves with each step that the sea kisses away with seafoam and salt.
What she finds at her end of the bridge is a ghost, head dipped and words but whispers that are too far for her to make out when she is trying to keep herself with the appearance of a calm, welcoming stranger who asks for nothing more than company in the night. They’re larger than her, and still mumbling out words by the time that she makes it within earshot and studying distance of them.
Past the sighs that the sea pushes out of its salty lungs, she catches only the faintest hints of a conversation with nothing.
Or so it seemed.
“It won't fall off if you care for it right.”
Ears sag and brows sink for a few brief seconds, drawn back upwards by the fact that she guesses she might of have misheard them.
He, well, still unknowingly they, are now close enough for her to make her announcement of presence.
“Is everything okay?”
Her head dips, finally catching sight of the small body withering in the sand. Cringes tempt her to let them creep across her face, to let them know that the sight she’s witnessing is enough to make her uncomfortable. She’s used to this for horses, not snakes.
“Would you like me to take care of it? I mean, I can.” A loud smack follows her words as Hobgoblin works to take his meal and the posse of beggars trailing him away, moving closer so that when he feels he’s satisfied himself with his feeding, he can join the group with little effort.
OOC: bleh bleh bad ending but WHATEVER
Hobgoblin is in his leopard seal form.
when both us knew how the end always is
you were angels,
so much more than everything
:: please tag me
:: minor force and power play allowed
