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esinakh
vod chafaan
dust to the wind
A scream.
A scream so full of terror that it shattered the cold, crisp air into a thousand pieces. At least, it did for the calf. The moment the mother griffin’s keen had rent the air, the little filly’s horned head ripped up from scrubbing her leg, instead focusing on the skies in curiosity. Despite Rak’s belabored teachings on things she should fear, such a sound didn’t incite terror in her. No, it wasn’t nearly as terrifying as the dirt that loomed beneath the snow.
Well, at least it wasn’t as terrifying until razor-sharp beaks and claws began to rain down on the foals from the skies. It was then, when lion claws nearly as large as her small body raked through the flesh of her shoulder, back, and haunches that her single, terrified scream rent the air.
Pale eyes snapped around, searching for Rak, for safety. She darted towards him, eyes blinded by fear and pain which made her movements flailing and jerky. A mewl crept out of her tightly-constricted throat as her fear pushed her passive magic out of her spine; grey mud mingling with the bright red flesh of her deep, bloody wound.
’NO TOUCH ESI!’ It is this roared decree that brings Esinakh to her brother—unable to see but able to hear. So she stumbled towards him, “Rak,” was her quiet croak; a prayer, her only known word for absolute safety.
Heat passes by them, emanating from the two, horned foals. The calf rapidly blinks, sending a warm wetness down her cheeks (—it was tears that had blinded her vision—), finding flaming eagles chasing the dastardly claws that had split open her back. She whimpers once, eyes darting from Rak’s creatures, “How Rak—?” but her question is cut off when she sees the blood on her brother.
“Rak hurt,” she wails. Though she, too, is hurt, she loves her brother too much (and his beautifully even, grey skin is now broken), to not be hurt by seeing his wounds, too.
A scream so full of terror that it shattered the cold, crisp air into a thousand pieces. At least, it did for the calf. The moment the mother griffin’s keen had rent the air, the little filly’s horned head ripped up from scrubbing her leg, instead focusing on the skies in curiosity. Despite Rak’s belabored teachings on things she should fear, such a sound didn’t incite terror in her. No, it wasn’t nearly as terrifying as the dirt that loomed beneath the snow.
Well, at least it wasn’t as terrifying until razor-sharp beaks and claws began to rain down on the foals from the skies. It was then, when lion claws nearly as large as her small body raked through the flesh of her shoulder, back, and haunches that her single, terrified scream rent the air.
Pale eyes snapped around, searching for Rak, for safety. She darted towards him, eyes blinded by fear and pain which made her movements flailing and jerky. A mewl crept out of her tightly-constricted throat as her fear pushed her passive magic out of her spine; grey mud mingling with the bright red flesh of her deep, bloody wound.
’NO TOUCH ESI!’ It is this roared decree that brings Esinakh to her brother—unable to see but able to hear. So she stumbled towards him, “Rak,” was her quiet croak; a prayer, her only known word for absolute safety.
Heat passes by them, emanating from the two, horned foals. The calf rapidly blinks, sending a warm wetness down her cheeks (—it was tears that had blinded her vision—), finding flaming eagles chasing the dastardly claws that had split open her back. She whimpers once, eyes darting from Rak’s creatures, “How Rak—?” but her question is cut off when she sees the blood on her brother.
“Rak hurt,” she wails. Though she, too, is hurt, she loves her brother too much (and his beautifully even, grey skin is now broken), to not be hurt by seeing his wounds, too.
Esi screams/cries and cowers near @Arakh
Please tag Esinakh.
