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06-25-2017, 02:51 AM
The weathermare could hear him follow, but she didn't turn back. Her ears against her skull, she was mostly able to ignore him, to determinedly walk away, until her wings were dry again, and then she could fly away.
She wasn't afraid of him: she also had her spear, and her fighting ability. She would kick his arse if she had to, and she would do a good job of it too.
He spoke, calling after her, but it was the way he spoke that gave her pause. Reluctantly, yet as if his words were some kind of drug she could not deny, she listened to him, to the way he delivered his apology (though it wasn't much of an apology, really).
In fact, as she peered back over her shoulder, she watched as his pathetic self bowed beneath the exertion of following her these few strides and calling out his apology. She stared at him, unable to meet his eye, simply looking at the now diminutive-appearing creature who was broken, cursed, beaten by his own demons.
Cirrus didn't really care about all that, truly. It was the way he had assumed things about her, the way his words had made her feel that irked her.
Still angry, still volatile, she turned back towards him again, her tongue prepared to deliver her words to him with venom and acerbity. "And what exactly made me privileged enough to earn them directed at me?" she challenged him, a breath away from pulling her spear out of the folds of her feathers and holding it to his throat.
But he was pathetic, a mess, a wisp of a stallion; it would be an insult, surely, to threaten him any further than she already had.
She wasn't afraid of him: she also had her spear, and her fighting ability. She would kick his arse if she had to, and she would do a good job of it too.
He spoke, calling after her, but it was the way he spoke that gave her pause. Reluctantly, yet as if his words were some kind of drug she could not deny, she listened to him, to the way he delivered his apology (though it wasn't much of an apology, really).
In fact, as she peered back over her shoulder, she watched as his pathetic self bowed beneath the exertion of following her these few strides and calling out his apology. She stared at him, unable to meet his eye, simply looking at the now diminutive-appearing creature who was broken, cursed, beaten by his own demons.
Cirrus didn't really care about all that, truly. It was the way he had assumed things about her, the way his words had made her feel that irked her.
Still angry, still volatile, she turned back towards him again, her tongue prepared to deliver her words to him with venom and acerbity. "And what exactly made me privileged enough to earn them directed at me?" she challenged him, a breath away from pulling her spear out of the folds of her feathers and holding it to his throat.
But he was pathetic, a mess, a wisp of a stallion; it would be an insult, surely, to threaten him any further than she already had.
with love, Cirrus
lunarblues & larfsalot @ deviantart
please do not feel pressured into mirroring the length of any of my posts
I write what I feel at the time
and hope everyone else does the same c:
