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02-10-2017, 09:04 PM
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Ah, the little mare was angry, that much was clear from her expression as she turned and the way that her voice stretched taut over her response. “It’s my job to be quick,” she snipped, and while Sheba was tempted to smile at the reaction she had caused, she did her best to rearrange her features into a more conciliatory expression. Her would-be victim had made no move to attack her, but she thought it prudent to tread carefully—she had learned that those with fiery tempers often had the means to back them up, and so she said nothing at first, only held her head a little lower and smiled a little softer. While the old hag still possessed enough pride to stoop to outright submission, her body language offered a passive apology, stance meant to convey no further threat. “And ye—“ the mare went on, clearly about to unleash her tongue on Sheba. The crone considered her expectantly, anticipating a verbal lashing. However, the dragon’s sudden arrival surprised the old mare as much as it had her bondmate—presumably more, since she lacked the benefit of a shared consciousness. To her chagrin, she flinched (and immediately loathed her base and chickenhearted instincts), but thankfully arthritis prevented her from fleeing the scene. By the time she perceived that the dragon meant her no harm, Sheba had only managed to shift her weight on creaky joints and thus attempted to disguise the action as a mere settling of old bones. “Sorcha!” the little mare was scolding the creature, but it paid her no heed. Instead, it sat up in front of Sheba, looking as precious as a glorified lizard possibly can, and extended a flower to her. Looking down at the dragon, Sheba didn’t know quite what to make of the gesture. Something about the gift made her feel funny, perhaps stirring a particular organ in her chest that had grown cold with disuse. It was a feeling similar to when a frostbitten extremity begins to unfreeze: a rather unpleasant tingling, but one that the body instinctively recognizes as a necessary pain, for even the coldest and deadest of hearts respond to small acts of unfettered kindness. Taken aback by the absurdity of it all, Sheba stretched down her muzzle and made to pluck the bloom, ever so delicately, from the dragon’s grip. “Quite a charming creature,” she commented, presuming that the dragon belonged to the little mare. “May I presume that this is an olive branch?” the crone asked with another placid smile, forcing her body to relax while keeping a close eye on the stormy stranger’s expression. She sensed that she might not be completely absolved of her attempted crime quite yet, and she wasn’t one to leave loose ends—gods knew how those could come back to haunt her. |
@Aisling
OMG SORCHA MY HEART ;______;
Please tag Sheba in all posts!
