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Crowley
stole many a man's soul and faith
A low growl sounds deep within Talbot's throat; they are not alone.
Crowley doesn't know who has dared to bother them at such an inconvenient time, when he's at one of his weakest moments, shivering and quaking as the cold seeped into his hide, down into his bones, into his very soul. Now is no time to put up with guests, be they horned or otherwise; to bother the brindled devil now would be a wish for death, at the very least.
The hound of hell scrambles to his feet as one approaches, a considerably smaller mare of earthen tones, noticing another of strange attributes standing a distance away, but his attention is on that of the other for now. In his mind, she is either very brave or very stupid to move so boldly towards his master, towards the stallion who is so very close to snapping...
And when the equid's flesh is felt against his own, he does just that.
Without a second thought, the tipping back of his ears the only sliver of a warning before he moves, Crowley wheels towards the mare with mouth agape, teeth searching, yearning to find flesh, perhaps the nape of her neck, her nose, her face; anywhere that was within easy reach. Whether he is successful or not, he then tucks his chin towards his chest before swinging it one way, horns swiping for the side of his unwanted company. If only he could wedge them between her ribs and watch the warmth slowly leave her body, beg for it to stop...
Talbot's eyes turn to the opaque one who had wisely stood a distance away, his gaze momentarily shifting to the crimson hued organ that was very much present within her chest, beating, pounding, sustaining life within... Taking a step closer, the hound curled back his lips and gave a snarl of warning, hackles raising and bristling along his neck and shoulders. Leave, those eyes of gold seemed to demand, lest that heart cease to beat and bring forth the gift of life.
"speak"
Crowley doesn't know who has dared to bother them at such an inconvenient time, when he's at one of his weakest moments, shivering and quaking as the cold seeped into his hide, down into his bones, into his very soul. Now is no time to put up with guests, be they horned or otherwise; to bother the brindled devil now would be a wish for death, at the very least.
The hound of hell scrambles to his feet as one approaches, a considerably smaller mare of earthen tones, noticing another of strange attributes standing a distance away, but his attention is on that of the other for now. In his mind, she is either very brave or very stupid to move so boldly towards his master, towards the stallion who is so very close to snapping...
And when the equid's flesh is felt against his own, he does just that.
Without a second thought, the tipping back of his ears the only sliver of a warning before he moves, Crowley wheels towards the mare with mouth agape, teeth searching, yearning to find flesh, perhaps the nape of her neck, her nose, her face; anywhere that was within easy reach. Whether he is successful or not, he then tucks his chin towards his chest before swinging it one way, horns swiping for the side of his unwanted company. If only he could wedge them between her ribs and watch the warmth slowly leave her body, beg for it to stop...
Talbot's eyes turn to the opaque one who had wisely stood a distance away, his gaze momentarily shifting to the crimson hued organ that was very much present within her chest, beating, pounding, sustaining life within... Taking a step closer, the hound curled back his lips and gave a snarl of warning, hackles raising and bristling along his neck and shoulders. Leave, those eyes of gold seemed to demand, lest that heart cease to beat and bring forth the gift of life.
"speak"
The Weaver's Workshop
HP: 45
