antlers and horns and scales (longclaw/any)

[Longclaw]

LONGCLAW

-I close my eyes, ignore the smoke-

He keeps to himself. What else is there to do? Ajatar hadn’t spoken on it, even though his uncouth offer of 'talking it over' had sprouted from disbelieving lips. “In shock,” he thinks, the determined pace of his gait never wavering, “I was in shock.”

It was more than that. In all his life he’d never seen Wyrm brought so low just as he deserved. He’d never witnessed that abominable creature flee from necessity, only from victory and satisfaction. It had been an …invigorating experience.

She saved your life. His conscious whispers; Wyrm would have been quick to do away with them both, or keep her captive in Nerine for someone else’s benefit. He always did prefer a meal over the toy. She almost killed you. It murmurs again and with a strong shake of his restored neck, Longclaw urges himself into a trot until he comes to stand beside her.

“My birth home.” He exhales, neck drawing taught to let the buffeting winds test and tangle his dark mane. For a moment his eyes fixate on the horizon, then they return to the ever familiar panes of her face. “Ajatar, I’ve never said this to anyone because I’ve never really felt it, but,” The stallion pauses, “I’m glad you’re my friend.”

And it seems right enough, that phrase: friend. She terrifies and fascinates, yet her mannerisms have ceased to change towards him so he assumes it’s correct. The palest flash of a smile rounds his fanged, blue lips and then it’s gone; leaving them both to admire the wild splendor of Nerine in passing silence until someone else makes it clear that they can go further.