12-07-2017, 11:40 PM
She was healing. It was a slow, painful process, but the yellow and black tiger paced through the grasses with a limp. Her careful steps were measured. Some days were better than others, but it seemed to hurt less when she was in tiger form. And Arete found that after she'd had gained enough strength to shapeshift, that her magic sustained her far better than in her natural form. The tiger felt strong, and when she hunted, she was able to gain more protein from the small game she ate than the grasses and berries that she consumed as a horse. It was a balm for the pain she experienced, and she was far more protected when she was able to stalk the grasses.
The scent of blood hit the air. Arete lifted her head and and opened her mouth, her pink tongue clicking behind her fangs, tasting the pheromones. Whiskers flicked and pushed, feeling the seed pods, determining which direction she should go. Thick padded paws dampened the sound of her approach. The sun was setting, and the pyre flies were rising from the mire, doing their nightly dance. Her voice was quiet, rumbling. And though she was limping, she hunted with a grace that came as naturally as it did as if she had been born a tiger, instead a horse.
The red-tinged grasses—colored so because of the color of the sunset—presented the perfect camouflage for whatever Arete was stalking. just the slightest movement though was enough... and a white flag (the tip of a tail) moved a little bit, and then....
"Oh..." The tiger blinked, looking down at the strangely scented fox. She sits undignifiedly in the grasses and tilted her head. "...you're so not what I thought you were. You dont' smell like a fox. Or like dinner. Who are you?"
The scent of blood hit the air. Arete lifted her head and and opened her mouth, her pink tongue clicking behind her fangs, tasting the pheromones. Whiskers flicked and pushed, feeling the seed pods, determining which direction she should go. Thick padded paws dampened the sound of her approach. The sun was setting, and the pyre flies were rising from the mire, doing their nightly dance. Her voice was quiet, rumbling. And though she was limping, she hunted with a grace that came as naturally as it did as if she had been born a tiger, instead a horse.
The red-tinged grasses—colored so because of the color of the sunset—presented the perfect camouflage for whatever Arete was stalking. just the slightest movement though was enough... and a white flag (the tip of a tail) moved a little bit, and then....
"Oh..." The tiger blinked, looking down at the strangely scented fox. She sits undignifiedly in the grasses and tilted her head. "...you're so not what I thought you were. You dont' smell like a fox. Or like dinner. Who are you?"
Arete
Some like beautiful, perfect and pretty.
I see the good in the bad and the ugly.
I see the good in the bad and the ugly.