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03-19-2015, 12:19 PM
i am the vanguard of your destruction
She was gonna, and she did.
But there were more things cutting through the air—larger things, dangerous things on broad, silent wings. Things with keen eyes, sharp beaks and sharp feet. Things.. things that were drawn to motion, to mischief, like moths to a flame. Wing-tips just barely not touching they rode the updrafts rising from the meadow, souls stretched into feral grins. Watching.. waiting...
Until it all happened at once, a cry, a streak of white, and the flash of sunlight on blue barring.
And his freedom surge had become a prison. A prison lined with soft, white feathers, a prison with sharp-talon bars, the pitter-patter of his heart echoing against the bones of her feet. Overhead, Diego made some kind of noise that could only be described as laughter.
Asshole bird.
"HEY!" he yelled at the sky, knowing what they were doing, but having lost them to the sun's harsh glare. It bit his eyes whenever he tried to find them visually, so after a moment, he just gave up. He knew what they knew anyway—saw what they saw, the world so distant and so small now that they both rode higher again, where it was colder, but her closed grasp shielded the small animal from the worst of the wind-chill. And he saw what they saw, that small, stocky mare who looked like she'd been dipped in milk, or had had it poured down her back, or, or, something, whatever.
Point is, that lizard was Elding's, and his bastard owls had snatched it from the air just like that. Never mind the almost tender precision which with her talons had closed, never mind how flawlessly they had avoided sinking into his fragile body, never mind how owls don't hunt like falcons (they're a different kind of death, gliding on silent wings, striking with much the same lack of sound, hot blood spilling out over claws as they carried their prey away, but they don't plummet and free-fall in their chase), never mind how she was just giving him a prolonged ride, and—
I get it.
Irma's cool amusement had turned to indignation, and he knew she had half a mind to just fly off with the damn lizard and let them tear after her like mad, but in the end.. In the end, what? It wasn't over yet. Nothing was over yet.
It was just that he knew her, and she knew that he knew, and they both knew that she was mostly just annoyed, and jealous, that he was so afraid she'd hurt Elding's pet lizard (where the hell had it come from anyway?) that he almost, almost accused her of wanting to eat it.
I'm sorry.
Murderer.
He knew how that kind of thing hurt. And he hated how he'd projected it onto her. She deserved better. She knew very well whose lizard they had caught. And that was why she had caught it in the first place, instead of just shredded the little fucker and eaten it for dinner.
"I know," he rumbled, to no one, because there was no one near enough, but he knew that she heard him anyway, echoing through their bones. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. It's just—" And he swallowed, ears hanging back in shame. "It's just kind of.. rude?"
But rude was the middle name of both those owls.
Sighing, Mauja picked himself off the ground, and set off across the meadow, trying to chase down the lightning before it burned his soul-mates to cinders.
[ @[Roskuld] ]
But there were more things cutting through the air—larger things, dangerous things on broad, silent wings. Things with keen eyes, sharp beaks and sharp feet. Things.. things that were drawn to motion, to mischief, like moths to a flame. Wing-tips just barely not touching they rode the updrafts rising from the meadow, souls stretched into feral grins. Watching.. waiting...
Until it all happened at once, a cry, a streak of white, and the flash of sunlight on blue barring.
And his freedom surge had become a prison. A prison lined with soft, white feathers, a prison with sharp-talon bars, the pitter-patter of his heart echoing against the bones of her feet. Overhead, Diego made some kind of noise that could only be described as laughter.
Asshole bird.
"HEY!" he yelled at the sky, knowing what they were doing, but having lost them to the sun's harsh glare. It bit his eyes whenever he tried to find them visually, so after a moment, he just gave up. He knew what they knew anyway—saw what they saw, the world so distant and so small now that they both rode higher again, where it was colder, but her closed grasp shielded the small animal from the worst of the wind-chill. And he saw what they saw, that small, stocky mare who looked like she'd been dipped in milk, or had had it poured down her back, or, or, something, whatever.
Point is, that lizard was Elding's, and his bastard owls had snatched it from the air just like that. Never mind the almost tender precision which with her talons had closed, never mind how flawlessly they had avoided sinking into his fragile body, never mind how owls don't hunt like falcons (they're a different kind of death, gliding on silent wings, striking with much the same lack of sound, hot blood spilling out over claws as they carried their prey away, but they don't plummet and free-fall in their chase), never mind how she was just giving him a prolonged ride, and—
I get it.
Irma's cool amusement had turned to indignation, and he knew she had half a mind to just fly off with the damn lizard and let them tear after her like mad, but in the end.. In the end, what? It wasn't over yet. Nothing was over yet.
It was just that he knew her, and she knew that he knew, and they both knew that she was mostly just annoyed, and jealous, that he was so afraid she'd hurt Elding's pet lizard (where the hell had it come from anyway?) that he almost, almost accused her of wanting to eat it.
I'm sorry.
Murderer.
He knew how that kind of thing hurt. And he hated how he'd projected it onto her. She deserved better. She knew very well whose lizard they had caught. And that was why she had caught it in the first place, instead of just shredded the little fucker and eaten it for dinner.
"I know," he rumbled, to no one, because there was no one near enough, but he knew that she heard him anyway, echoing through their bones. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. It's just—" And he swallowed, ears hanging back in shame. "It's just kind of.. rude?"
But rude was the middle name of both those owls.
Sighing, Mauja picked himself off the ground, and set off across the meadow, trying to chase down the lightning before it burned his soul-mates to cinders.
[ @[Roskuld] ]
