[mature] A beautiful face is a mute recommendation - Longclaw

[Longclaw]

LONGCLAW

-I close my eyes, ignore the smoke-

He doesn’t appreciate a quarry that escapes.

Had he not made himself clear to her? Was it not within her best interest to remain close by, to seek him out and study beneath him? They had traversed to Carnage’s lair together and the creator had given her a strength to rival Claw’s own (could one be thankful to a dark god?) but then, after their experience, she’d disappeared.

“A bad little bird.” He thinks, unaware of every trial she’s been facing because his mute canary had flown the coop to find higher branches. If only she’d stayed near! God’s curse that thrice-damned woman and her ability to remain unfound. Day and night he’d searched, hoping to find some remnant of her still lingering on the island but that delectable scent had long been washed away by the shoreline. “When I find her …” Longclaw thinks, shaking a blue head in irritation.

It would be a struggle to push her out of his thoughts (his need was mounting, the hunger steadily rising) but it was a necessary action. He’d come out today for the sole purpose of tracking - nothing more, nothing less. Strange prints had begun to surface around the island and a few of the wandering inhabitants had complained of yellow eyes in the night, strange markings gouged into the trunks of trees. It was his duty to investigate these claims first; Diorae would come after.

Goodness, if he only knew.

For now though he inspects one of the many trunk-ripped-clean trees. He remains as a horse for this job, the careful tilt of his vibrant green eyes marking the width and length of the markings in question. “Not bear.” He knows, inclining his head further to whuff softly against the bark. “Pungent, no sign of urine.” Not a male, then. But what? Clearly the offender was large, with toes and claws meant for killing, not just traveling. His guess hovered over cat, but the species was yet to be discovered.

One way to find out.

Now he shifts, turning the once round end of his nose to pointed but leaving the rest as equine. He’s been less inclined of late to use his second skin wholly so when he can, he avoids it altogether. This will do, though, and the appendage guides him from the beginnings of a worn trail right onto the path of a fresh one.

The offender was nearby. Wouldn't Warrick be just pleased to know the face of a creature slinking in the shadows of his kingdom? Claw thinks, yes, and then his nose returns to equine shape and his eyes burst freely into spirals of blue-white flame.

The hunt was on.

He walks with purpose now - every step precisely where it needs to be until he’s drawn free of the tighter woods and pushed out into the makings of a small clearing. The sound of his approach (quiet as he tries to keep it) alerts the attention of a deer - some feet away and probably grazing stupidly before he’d come - and for a moment he remains completely immobile.

Where was the offender hiding, hmm?

Then, from the crouching cover where she hides, his eyes discern the subtle flash of gold that is Marigold but also not Marigold and Longclaw wastes no time in calling out -

“You there!” And the sound escapes in a burning hiss of spitting flame, “Don’t run.”

@[Diorae]