the Rift


Fight for yourself [Rishima]

Lace the Silverthorn Posts: 459
Deceased atk: 5 | def: 9 | dam: 5.5
Stallion :: Equine :: 15.3 hh :: 14 HP: 65 | Buff: NOVICE
Fajira :: Plain White Dragon :: Fire Breath Chan
#1

The light that seeped through the canopy was tinted in green and gold, dull and listless but more than sufficient to chase away most of the shadows. A cold wind rustled the drying leaves, but it was as though it didn't quite reach down between the thick trunks of the massive trees, because the air close to the ground was still thick with pungent odors, a testimony of all things rotten and dying. It was quiet. No birds were singing today, and the small mammals that usually scurried back and forth and minding their own business had disappeared, hiding away in safe places.

Heavy footsteps created a hollow sound as they beat against the leaf-covered earth and in the heavy silence his fast paced breath sounded loud. Heartbeats pounded in his ears and there was a taste of blood lingering upon the tongue, from growing exhaustion and the crimson liquid that stained his maw and splashed across legs, chest and haunches. A pair of honey-colored eyes followed the movements of the wolf as they circled around the small clearing, gray beasts engaged in combat that had persisted too long; the shapes of two other wolves, already dead testified of the price that had been payed. Only it wasn't over yet. Lace registered the sting of sweat upon torn flesh and tried his best to spare the right aft leg from bearing any weight, but it was easier said than done. He was forced to move, couldn't allow the predator to see his weakness or he would be done for.

A flash of white between the branches of the trees caught his attention, and with a sharp snort followed by a distracting shriek he heaved himself forward with numbing legs, slamming the front hooves down against the wolf; it slipped to the side and lunged up against the stallion, snarling savagely as it snapped with glimmering teeth against his neck. Lace reared, somehow managing to avoid the canines from clasping onto his flesh but groaned from pain when blunt fangs ripped at the skin of his left upper arm, drawing blood once more. Using the last of his waning strength the silver maned horse threw himself to the side, out of the way; and just in time.

With a deafening roar the white dragon descended upon them and let out a cascade of fire from her throat, the heat enough to sear his skin. The wolf was caught right in the flaming torrent and hollered in pain as the dragons breath burned the flesh, the fur, boiled the eyes in its sockets and sucked the very air out of the lungs of the beast. Then she passed and Lace turned towards the wild animal once more, breathing heavily and with ears tucked back sharply against the neck. Sickened by the sight and scent of burning flesh he approached the tormented wolf and rose up on powerful but tiring hind legs, aimed - and came down hard upon the head of the dying creature, effectively smashing open the head and ending the suffering.

Fajira gave out a victorious cry that echoed through the silence of the forest and swirled around in the air. She was tired, her throat aching from the continual use of fire, but it could be ignored in favor of the thrilling ecstasy that came with a victory. When Lace backed away from the dead wolf she darted down and latched on to the smoldering carcass, hungrily digging into the hot flesh with razor sharp teeth.

He staggered away from the fallen animals and tried to catch his breath, leaning heavily against the trunk of a tree to keep himself upright. Adrenaline still coursed through his blood, but even through the numbing substance he could feel the pain from the wounds, and from experience Lace realized that he'd be in for a hellish night once he calmed down. Somehow he had managed to survive the attack, but it hadn't come cheaply; three deep gashes on the thigh made it painful to step down on the right hindleg, his chest and shoulders had numerous scratches that stung without bleeding too much, and then there was the new gash on the left front. He wearily turned the head to study the wound, noticing how the canines of the predator had created a jagged wound that penetrated the skin. Fresh crimson blood oozed from the edges, thick because of the substances in his body that thickened the vital fluid to keep it from escaping too quickly.

Tiredly he closed his eyes for a moment, listening to his own rapid heartbeat and the sound of flesh tearing from bone; Fajira was making short process with the wolf, and for a while longer he would let her fill her stomach. They would have to move soon, as the scent of blood and death might lure other predators. Soon, but not right away. He needed to rest, to catch his breath. It should be okay to wait, just for a moment.



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♦ Permission granted to use magic and violence on Lace and Fajira
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