What burns white-hot in him catches like quicksilver in her, blazing in Aela’s golden chest. It swings between them like a pendulum - back and forth - until the origination of the memory (the feeling?) becomes forgotten. Where it started no longer matters. All Aela cares about is how this will end.
By the unyielding way that she keeps her grip on Wherewolf’s wing, the yearling thinks it will not be because of her.
They become hard to tell apart. Both yearlings become a tangle of limbs. A longer, leaner chestnut one striking out here. A buckskin one that scrapes against her. Below the Nerinian sun, they are a spectacle. Glinting, gold stripes, and shining iridescent dapples. There is no stopping the momentum that Aela has set into motion. The bigger yearling uses his size to his advantage and falls heavily to the ground, dragging the girl down with him.
There is a moment where Aela thinks that he is done. She thinks: Good. This is the end. Mud coats her sides and there is no lovely blue sheen coming from her socks now. @[Wherewolf] has seen to it that they are both covered with soft, spring mud and all the loose dirt the pair of them have stirred up.
It doesn’t last long. The colt attempts to pull his wing back to his side and Aela clamps down with her dull teeth. She refuses to let herself believe that she is afraid but his abrupt movement startled her and so she clings to the wing because she has nothing else. Wherewolf pulls her close and Aela digs in her hooves, determined to not make it easy for him. He tugs the wing harder and the slender legs finally relent with Aela glaring her fury up at him from blue eyes. While she looks up over the dingy brown feathers, he comes down.
The moment is an impossibility of seconds and eons. Her gaze widens as he falls and she finally lets go of the coveted wing. Too little, too late. He crashes and though she goes down with him, Aela doesn’t break. There is a searing flash of pain along her side and he’s managed to gash her somewhere. Where the blood comes from isn’t immediately spotted because when the filly raises her head, she looks around wildly forgetting where she is or what is happening.
In a moment of panic, she searches for the comfort of her spotted mother. She jerks her head back and her eyes reveal their white rims when the colt starts to rise. Aela snakes her neck out and bares her teeth, warning him off her. There is no Kota. A back leg finds the unsteady ground first and then a front one, adrenaline moving her at this point instead of logical thought. He lunges at her and Aela resorts to her only defense; the only way she knows to speak.
He moves towards her and the chestnut yearling angles away from him, a too-slow and fatigued sidestep. The brush of his skin against hers might be Aela’s only advantage. (She thinks of the ground and the angry soil, churned and disturbed beneath their hooves. The white lather - like seafoam - on his sides. A dirtied feather, laying forgotten on the ground.)
By the unyielding way that she keeps her grip on Wherewolf’s wing, the yearling thinks it will not be because of her.
They become hard to tell apart. Both yearlings become a tangle of limbs. A longer, leaner chestnut one striking out here. A buckskin one that scrapes against her. Below the Nerinian sun, they are a spectacle. Glinting, gold stripes, and shining iridescent dapples. There is no stopping the momentum that Aela has set into motion. The bigger yearling uses his size to his advantage and falls heavily to the ground, dragging the girl down with him.
There is a moment where Aela thinks that he is done. She thinks: Good. This is the end. Mud coats her sides and there is no lovely blue sheen coming from her socks now. @[Wherewolf] has seen to it that they are both covered with soft, spring mud and all the loose dirt the pair of them have stirred up.
It doesn’t last long. The colt attempts to pull his wing back to his side and Aela clamps down with her dull teeth. She refuses to let herself believe that she is afraid but his abrupt movement startled her and so she clings to the wing because she has nothing else. Wherewolf pulls her close and Aela digs in her hooves, determined to not make it easy for him. He tugs the wing harder and the slender legs finally relent with Aela glaring her fury up at him from blue eyes. While she looks up over the dingy brown feathers, he comes down.
The moment is an impossibility of seconds and eons. Her gaze widens as he falls and she finally lets go of the coveted wing. Too little, too late. He crashes and though she goes down with him, Aela doesn’t break. There is a searing flash of pain along her side and he’s managed to gash her somewhere. Where the blood comes from isn’t immediately spotted because when the filly raises her head, she looks around wildly forgetting where she is or what is happening.
In a moment of panic, she searches for the comfort of her spotted mother. She jerks her head back and her eyes reveal their white rims when the colt starts to rise. Aela snakes her neck out and bares her teeth, warning him off her. There is no Kota. A back leg finds the unsteady ground first and then a front one, adrenaline moving her at this point instead of logical thought. He lunges at her and Aela resorts to her only defense; the only way she knows to speak.
He moves towards her and the chestnut yearling angles away from him, a too-slow and fatigued sidestep. The brush of his skin against hers might be Aela’s only advantage. (She thinks of the ground and the angry soil, churned and disturbed beneath their hooves. The white lather - like seafoam - on his sides. A dirtied feather, laying forgotten on the ground.)
AELA
she had a marvelous time ruining everything
html by castlegraphics; art by KHARTHIAN