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09-22-2013, 08:00 PM
satisfaction coursed through her as her ivories clasped unto the bridge of another maw, though she knows it is by no means fatal, and the scrapes and cuts along her forelegs are a painful reminder that the fox has turned into the deadly wolf, that the bloodhound is now the fox, and that she is being hunted even as she hunts the hunter. it's bizarre, but she is by no means in a herd of sane individuals, pure of mind and heart. a crashing wave of disappointment follows afterwards, as her attack which she hoped to land on the blood-thirsty werewolves chest is met with the solid thud of a right shoulder. she knows it was not such a lucky blow. clouds begin to grow in the clear skies, stormy weather she realizes; as lightning strikes and the first droplet's fall. normal. so then why is it sizzling, burning against her apparel with a candle hot flame? she dismisses it at first as her imagination, she can't focus on it regardless, for the cackling werewolf attacks her again, and she is forced to respond. her muscles ripple across her flesh as she lifts herself once more in a harmless move to escape the sharp daggers. it scrapes across a tender cut on right foreleg and the pain blooms behind her mind as red flowers in her vision. mane is blown in the wind, and the insane werewolf continues to cackle. the wind is not her wind, not now, it strikes against her with a force and she feels as if it is foreign to the winds she so willingly listens to, readily enjoy's it's company. this is not her wind, no, and the rain falls harder, acidic poison that burns her flesh and seems to relish her anguish. she stumbles, she feels defeat and true despair creeping upwards close to her soul and crushing her flame. the now heavy acidic rain that falls in torrents from the raging skies turns her entire body to a singular roar of flame, or at least, it feels like it. it hurts, it hurts so much, she has never experienced this pain before, she has never dealt with true magic before, and this werewolf may be too fair out of her league. she surely cannot best her, it is impossible. her harks are ringing due to the amount of pain she is suffering, she hear's lyrics being weaved into the air, and yet she cannot focus on them. she is ready to give in, and yet, one thing, one thing brings her back to reality with a startling force. the white general. he brought her into the asylum, offered her a home, and here she is, failing at the one task she is supposed to be best at. she can see the disappointment in his ice orbs, and somehow, this fuels her. she forces her mind past the mind numbing pain to the present. in the midst of the acid, there is a smell, a odd smell she recognized at the beginning of the fight, but just now truly realized it's origins. it is the scent of a feline, a mountain predator, a beast, and a foggy bell of a memory rings in her orbs. a word: bonded. long ago, she was told she was good at lying. she is supposed to be a actress. and she will play her lines. slowly, her bodice appears more and more fatigued, and she finally lowers her dome to press forwards towards the mare, orbs downcast in utter surrender, head turned aside in shame. it is not hard to do, when she remembers how poorly she defended herself earlier against the werewolf. her voice is a proud, but defeated whisper. "i.. i cannot best you, werewolf." as she speaks, she moves as if to leave, circling around the werewolf towards the forest, head hung lowly in shame, though her tail flicked haughtily. a sore loser, she was, but one who could acknowledge her betters. she picks up the scent stronger now. she stumbles. proof of her weakness. and then in a blinding rage, her hooves dig purchase into the acidic earth, her weight shifts to her hinds. she catches glittering orbs in the grass. and with every ounce of hatred in her body, she aims her daggers down at the felines head, attempting to knock it unconscious. as her weight comes back down, she lowers her dome, attempting to slice her crown through flesh and muscle of the great cat's shoulder. she will make the white general proud. @[Histe] wc: 763 words 4113 characters 2/3 :: Circuta is growing medium burns along her entire body as the acid downpour meets her flesh. When Histe cow kicks at one of her forelegs, she raises up slightly unto her hind once more, in a frantic attempt to avoid the hoof. It does not fully succeed, and instead hits a already tender scrape from Histe's previous attack. A faint scent from before lingers in her nostrils, and she realizes that Histe must be bonded, as well. Moving forwards at a circular, slow, non-threatening angle, she makes a defeated move towards the treeline, hoping that Histe will not see through her disquise until it is too late. When she is near Merikh, she stumbles to further her act. She wheels towards Merikh's right, catching what she believes to be a glint of eyes in the darkness. Raising upwards unto her hind one last time, she tries to aim her attack at Merikh's head, in an attempt to knock him unconscious for the remainder of the fight. If it does not succeed, the hooves will likely either hit Merikh's shoulder, or slip off harmlessly. Finally, as she comes downwards again, she tries to use her horn to impale Merikh's shoulder. If it does not succeed, it will likely only leave a scratch. CREDITS
VENOMXBABY : MIDNIGHTSTOUCHSTOCK |
