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01-15-2017, 04:26 PM
fear the vulture and it will come. fear nothing and you are the vulture.
Massive wings spread slightly—unable to fully extend in the small clearing where he had found a good chunk of vines and bones. Many had amassed around the Rotunda’s ruined pillars, and the giant vulture had found himself more in the way of other’s cleaning, rather than actually being useful in the cleanly escapades. He had hoped that the elegant, shapely (but slender) woman from the gather would follow him…
But the heavy-boned pegasus had wandered off a ways from the ruins, sharp raptor gaze sweeping the thin layer of sticky, resilient snow that hid from the warming weather beneath the thick, gnarled branches that surrounded the Rotunda. Hot irises searched for all the things Kis had said to clean: vines, branches, bones.
There had been plenty of bones in the vulture’s life. It was the way of the harsh, plateau life—it was also the way of the man. Though there had (sadly) been a lack of boning since he had come across Helovia’s magical borders. Pale ears tilt back as a particularly strong sweep of his massive, feathered hoof splintered an old, faded skull he was corralling into a pile of other bones. It had been… frustrating for the gargantuan beast.
“Blerrie,” was his gruff grumble as a few sharp shards of the old skull managed to dart through the thick, knotted feathers of his legs and cut his pastern. A breath pushed out of his nostrils as he immediately picked up his now-injured leg; a few, small rivulets of blood bright red against the dark tips of his hoof.
And, being the great man that he was, he clenched his teeth and narrowed his eyes in pain at the small cut. A snort pushed out his nostrils, “Blasted bones.” Ears pinned against his wild mane. Alone, without the company of a woman, and injured. What a day this was becoming.
Blerrie = damn
But the heavy-boned pegasus had wandered off a ways from the ruins, sharp raptor gaze sweeping the thin layer of sticky, resilient snow that hid from the warming weather beneath the thick, gnarled branches that surrounded the Rotunda. Hot irises searched for all the things Kis had said to clean: vines, branches, bones.
There had been plenty of bones in the vulture’s life. It was the way of the harsh, plateau life—it was also the way of the man. Though there had (sadly) been a lack of boning since he had come across Helovia’s magical borders. Pale ears tilt back as a particularly strong sweep of his massive, feathered hoof splintered an old, faded skull he was corralling into a pile of other bones. It had been… frustrating for the gargantuan beast.
“Blerrie,” was his gruff grumble as a few sharp shards of the old skull managed to dart through the thick, knotted feathers of his legs and cut his pastern. A breath pushed out of his nostrils as he immediately picked up his now-injured leg; a few, small rivulets of blood bright red against the dark tips of his hoof.
And, being the great man that he was, he clenched his teeth and narrowed his eyes in pain at the small cut. A snort pushed out his nostrils, “Blasted bones.” Ears pinned against his wild mane. Alone, without the company of a woman, and injured. What a day this was becoming.
Blerrie = damn
graasvoel
@Najya LET'S DO THIS THANG
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