Auriel

For a handful of moments, I felt satisfied, a flicker of twisted pride. My wing hit his jaw with a force that jarred even myself, making the skin beneath tingle and bruise. I had to hold back a cry, not just for the bruises on my wing, but for the ones on my chest and blood on my neck. Everything throbbed and stung, I wasn't used to be hurt, to seeing crimson mixed with the pale saffron of my coat.

But hearing his praise, seeing that flash of crimson pools aimed at me made the pain worth it. It made me believe that however many wrongs would be thrown at me, I could take it. I smirked to myself, the simple expression strained by the ache in my chest. I suppressed a flicker of panic that shot through my mind, sparked by the possibility of my chest hurting forever.

Would training with my mother first prevented this? I found myself distrusting her still, even after her apologies, her promises. Apologies could be faked and promises empty, broken. But could she make it all stop? Could she still kiss my bruises and make it all better? Could she wipe my tears and blood off, and hold me till I don't have to scream anymore?

Hold me till it's over?

My scream ceased to be in a final haze of smoke, billowing around my features before dissipating into nothingness. When he charged towards me, I tried to flee out of the most basic instincts. He was a streak of black against the verdant of the meadow, his face etched with what I could only assume was something like pain. His movements were reckless, impulsive, and chilled me to my core. We were, in that moment, primal creatures, driven forward by nothing more than compulsion, our actions (our wounds) caused equally by each other and ourselves.

And so when his hooves struck my withers, I did not feel sorry for myself. My knees buckled under his weight, the sheer force of his strength too much for me. It stung, it burned, it sizzled up and down my spine; I didn't know whether it was more comparable to lightning or fire trapped beneath my skin. That time I didn't hold back my cry - I yelped as soon as his hooves made contact with my body. My breath was forced from my lungs once again in a short huff of smoke as I fell further, my hind legs falling to meet the ground with the rest of me.

I felt practically immobilized, every part of my body hurting like it never had before. To move was to hurt more, to send more flame through my withers, but there was nothing I could do. I wasn't ready to admit defeat yet, but lying there, I was about out of ideas on what to do. No matter what I did it would only cause me more pain.  

I decided on what would require me to move the least. I threw my head back, a (mostly likely in vain) attempt and thrusting my split horns into the flesh of his left leg. I immediately regretted this, as moving my head at all caused more pain to sear through my withers and up my spine. I stifled a cry, flapping my right wing lightly, pulling it up to wave around near his face. It wasn't a menacing gesture, just one to hopefully confuse him, and persuade him to get off. That hurt just as much as moving my neck and head. The motions were slow and sloppy, all of it put forth with weak effort.

I only wanted it all to stop.

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@Volterra
WC: 613
Attack: 3/3
so so so sorry for the wait ;-;

she belongs to the fire