12-17-2018, 06:45 PM
From his side he rolls onto his back, idly watching some insect bubble about his snot. Wide paws neatly rest one atop the other on his ribcage, and the grasses wave above him. Despite his impressive size, the young lion remains hidden yet annoyingly, awake. With a low grow he swats the honeybee, sending its crushed form flying at a speed which the poor creature had never experienced before, and would never experience again.
Somewhat appeased, he closes his eye, the liquid amber of them shuttered against the dying sun.
But the scent of a large herbivore grows stronger, and soon the closeness of the creature is hard to ignore. Atone rolls back onto his belly, crouched low are barely breathing. Through the latticework of summer sweet-grass, he watches as horse beds down, sinking into the meadow and out of sight.
He slinks forward, closing the distance between them with the practiced ease of a predator in his element.
In a flattened bed of meadow-weeds the horse lies, unsuspecting. Heavily, the lion sits back onto his haunches his tail whipping back and forth in mild agitation. This young stallion was in his prime and armed with magic. He wasn’t normal prey. Atone can smell the heated scent of enchantments working in the air around them; only a starving fool would try to make an easy meal out of such a being. Even if he was just a horse. A very sleepy horse.
Unsheathing his claws he reaches out, and taps the other male twice, right between the eyes.
“Wake up, Horse.”