07-29-2015, 05:24 PM
There is blood on the snow, blood on the trees—he grabs a bit of hide and quickly rips it back with his teeth. He revels in the taste, trembles a little when the blood gushes out and hits his tongue; it’s been so long since he’s fed, since he’s actually gotten to enjoy the thrill of the hunt that he had almost forgotten what it was like. But there’s plenty of time for that now. He plunges his muzzle in between the buck’s ribs, wedges it there until the bones finally crack and split apart. Nearby, a little crow caws and watches him with hungry eyes—the damn thing has been following him for a few days now, pestering him for food as if he were its’ mother. Tarnished is eagerly dragging the buck’s innards out when he notices the bird. Rolling his golden eyes, he mumbles through a full mouth: “Oh, don’t give me that look.”
The crow cocks its head suspiciously.
“It’s not like I can eat all of it by myself.”
Definitely not needing to be told twice, the crow flies down from its perch to share the bounty.
A part of him wants to eat the crow, too. Teach it a lesson for trusting him. But he’s never been so cruel, never so heartless; never so much like Mother that he couldn’t come back from it. Speaking of Mother, it’s been so long since he has returned to the body She made him that he isn’t entirely sure he remembers how—so he tries, and he tries, sifting through shape after shape until he finds the one he’s looking for; tall, dark, and covered in scars. Everything from his ears down to his hooves feels strange, he has to run his tongue across his fangs just to make sure they’re still there. They feel odd in this mouth.
This mouth should have blunt teeth, but he’s never had blunt teeth.
He’s never so much as eaten a blade of grass.
The crow looks on, stunned but intrigued.
Tarnished smiles, then goes about finishing his meal.
--
It’s some hours later that he finally leaves the dead buck behind, his new crow-friend perched safely on his back. Some look at him funny—others avoid him, smelling the blood. Tarnished pays no mind to this, in fact, he ambles along as though nothing is wrong and hums his Jungle-mother’s songs under his breath; she’s been on his mind a lot as of late, it’s been so long since he’s seen her. It’s been so long since he’s seen any of them, actually. He should go looking for them, but he doesn’t want to leave the Meadow.
He doesn’t want Dominion to come back and he not be here.
She’d always been here when he came home.
Somewhere down the line, Tarnished loses the crowd and heads towards a corner of The Meadow known to be less noisy. Less occupied. He can breathe here, he can think—there are no eyes burning holes through him. Again, not that he pays them any mind, but he still appreciates not having to carry their weight. The stallion carries on through the snow, still humming, when something catches his eye; it’s the slightest of movement beneath a tree, maybe just the heave of a breath, but it’s there and he quickly whips his head around in her direction. He wishes he didn’t.
The memories come flooding right back, he feels weak—he feels sick.
“You,” Tarnished says, his golden eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “She wanted to come find you.” Wanted to, he says. As if she were dead. As if she were anything but alive and healthy. He’s played with her children, watched them and kept them safe as if they were his own— as if she didn’t betray him. But that matters not. His Else is dead as far as he is concerned.
The crow cocks its head suspiciously.
“It’s not like I can eat all of it by myself.”
Definitely not needing to be told twice, the crow flies down from its perch to share the bounty.
A part of him wants to eat the crow, too. Teach it a lesson for trusting him. But he’s never been so cruel, never so heartless; never so much like Mother that he couldn’t come back from it. Speaking of Mother, it’s been so long since he has returned to the body She made him that he isn’t entirely sure he remembers how—so he tries, and he tries, sifting through shape after shape until he finds the one he’s looking for; tall, dark, and covered in scars. Everything from his ears down to his hooves feels strange, he has to run his tongue across his fangs just to make sure they’re still there. They feel odd in this mouth.
This mouth should have blunt teeth, but he’s never had blunt teeth.
He’s never so much as eaten a blade of grass.
The crow looks on, stunned but intrigued.
Tarnished smiles, then goes about finishing his meal.
--
It’s some hours later that he finally leaves the dead buck behind, his new crow-friend perched safely on his back. Some look at him funny—others avoid him, smelling the blood. Tarnished pays no mind to this, in fact, he ambles along as though nothing is wrong and hums his Jungle-mother’s songs under his breath; she’s been on his mind a lot as of late, it’s been so long since he’s seen her. It’s been so long since he’s seen any of them, actually. He should go looking for them, but he doesn’t want to leave the Meadow.
He doesn’t want Dominion to come back and he not be here.
She’d always been here when he came home.
Somewhere down the line, Tarnished loses the crowd and heads towards a corner of The Meadow known to be less noisy. Less occupied. He can breathe here, he can think—there are no eyes burning holes through him. Again, not that he pays them any mind, but he still appreciates not having to carry their weight. The stallion carries on through the snow, still humming, when something catches his eye; it’s the slightest of movement beneath a tree, maybe just the heave of a breath, but it’s there and he quickly whips his head around in her direction. He wishes he didn’t.
The memories come flooding right back, he feels weak—he feels sick.
“You,” Tarnished says, his golden eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “She wanted to come find you.” Wanted to, he says. As if she were dead. As if she were anything but alive and healthy. He’s played with her children, watched them and kept them safe as if they were his own— as if she didn’t betray him. But that matters not. His Else is dead as far as he is concerned.
equus mutatio, immortality, disease manipulation, trait immunity