He is young and oblivious, and just as the butterfly leaves his eyesight there is suddenly a new presence near him. His lips rip apart seamlessly to show teeth, like a small dog attempting to appear menacing. He remains quiet and still, ears laying flat against the patches of pearl and evergreen of his coat. He almost seems feral, socially inept. For a long moment he merely watches her, brow furrowing confusedly as she begins to speak to him. He continues to watch her as she speaks, his small body tense and uncomfortable with her being so near to him. His lips twitch – he wants to bite her and get rid of her (and to maybe see what was beneath her golden cream skin).
Then, before his annoyance bubbled into rage, the girl offers him something interesting – something he had never thought of before.
“Hunt?” he blurts suddenly, his voice low and inquisitive. His ears now prick towards her with curiosity and his muscles relax ever so slightly. His brow was still low on his dark eyes, but he no longer was a wild thing spitting beneath the shadows. She had also complimented him, which Maugrim would never admit to enjoy hearing. Of course he would be better at it than them and right of her to see it.
His dark eyes turn to observe the foals frolicking in the distance as he considers her invitation, his face bitter with resentment as he watches their folly. He inhales deeply, the smell of damp earth filling his nostrils. He exhales in a slow sigh, his breath causing the foliage near his mouth to rustle quietly. He groans inwardly, knowing that he would simply have to wait for the parade of children to leave the area before he could wade into the still and calm depths of the small lake that was beyond the field. His short tail flicks impatiently, lips twitching absentmindedly. “I haven’t seen no rabbits,” he muses dismissively (almost to himself, as he has the awful habit of making no eye contact when he spoke). “Just birds and those damned butterflies.” Dissatisfaction ripples across his face, and one could make the assumption that it was not just the birds and butterflies that made him bothered.
His jaw clenches tightly as his dark, narrowing eyes fall to the girl once again, contemplative. “They’re fast,” he says, referring to the rabbits (or maybe the foals in the distance), “how do you catch them?”
Maugrim knew how he would, but he figures surrounding an animal in a watery grave isn’t exactly what this girl had in mind.
m a u g r i m.