05-27-2020, 11:13 AM
A familiar voice hisses through the bird’s beak and perhaps his sharp raptor eyes will see the way her scowl twists into a smirk instead. She is remembering how much she loves it when she is right, when her suspicions prove to be correct. She only tsks into the colt’s wing, the soft down tickling her nose and lips as his dreams soften and his kicking legs still.
“You’re getting so predictable, Wolfbane.”
She cannot, of course, hear the voices in his head that incite him to that red-hazed rage, but she can hear the angry shuffling sound of feathers, and she can tell he has not come down from his tree yet, so she does not bother to turn her eye to him. The mare treads a thin line. Her feet have always been careful on such paths, but her spirit is reckless and contrary. She will not be led.
Does she refuse to learn from her mistakes? Perhaps it depends on which mistakes it is that he refers to. Her knife-sharp grin turns wicked and for the briefest moment she lets her gaze find his – just a flash, a challenge – then whip-fast it turns down again to the sleeping colt. Bared teeth grab the boy at the base of his young wing and his blue-green eyes fly open in surprise, wrenched from his dreams by the crushing grip. He screeches when the white faced mare rears up suddenly, her neck curled with the weight of him held dangling by the wing, hard knees bruising his soft ribs. Neverwhere shakes her head, swinging the screaming colt roughly in the air until she feels a dull POP - the gold-dappled colt cries more sharply when the wing is dislocated – and then she drops him to the earth again in a tangle of limbs, one wing flapping and the other hanging useless. The boy grunts when he hits the ground, his screams turning to whispered moans as he thrashes in the black Taigan soil.
“I’ll kill him. I’ll kill him in a second if you come near me again. Before you can stop me. Before his healing can kick in - if he even has it.” Her cloudy eyes are cold when her gaze falls back to the whimpering, writhing foal at her feet, her ears laced back and small brown feathers sticking wetly at the corners of her mouth. There’s no sign that he does, in fact, have the ability - though she suspects that if he did not, she would be dead already. The light in the clearing flickers around mother and son and then suddenly there are three mares, exact copies of the dappled Nerinian Queen in a circle around the boy, their hard, slate-grey hooves too close to the boy for comfort. One of them paws, leaving a deep indentation in the soil where a moment ago the colt’s head had lain on an outstretched neck.
Lepis may have wondered whether she could kill a child, but Neverwhere does not.
One of the duplicates speaks.
"I've been thinking about calling him Log. It was the stupidest name I could come up with."
“You’re getting so predictable, Wolfbane.”
She cannot, of course, hear the voices in his head that incite him to that red-hazed rage, but she can hear the angry shuffling sound of feathers, and she can tell he has not come down from his tree yet, so she does not bother to turn her eye to him. The mare treads a thin line. Her feet have always been careful on such paths, but her spirit is reckless and contrary. She will not be led.
Does she refuse to learn from her mistakes? Perhaps it depends on which mistakes it is that he refers to. Her knife-sharp grin turns wicked and for the briefest moment she lets her gaze find his – just a flash, a challenge – then whip-fast it turns down again to the sleeping colt. Bared teeth grab the boy at the base of his young wing and his blue-green eyes fly open in surprise, wrenched from his dreams by the crushing grip. He screeches when the white faced mare rears up suddenly, her neck curled with the weight of him held dangling by the wing, hard knees bruising his soft ribs. Neverwhere shakes her head, swinging the screaming colt roughly in the air until she feels a dull POP - the gold-dappled colt cries more sharply when the wing is dislocated – and then she drops him to the earth again in a tangle of limbs, one wing flapping and the other hanging useless. The boy grunts when he hits the ground, his screams turning to whispered moans as he thrashes in the black Taigan soil.
“I’ll kill him. I’ll kill him in a second if you come near me again. Before you can stop me. Before his healing can kick in - if he even has it.” Her cloudy eyes are cold when her gaze falls back to the whimpering, writhing foal at her feet, her ears laced back and small brown feathers sticking wetly at the corners of her mouth. There’s no sign that he does, in fact, have the ability - though she suspects that if he did not, she would be dead already. The light in the clearing flickers around mother and son and then suddenly there are three mares, exact copies of the dappled Nerinian Queen in a circle around the boy, their hard, slate-grey hooves too close to the boy for comfort. One of them paws, leaving a deep indentation in the soil where a moment ago the colt’s head had lain on an outstretched neck.
Lepis may have wondered whether she could kill a child, but Neverwhere does not.
One of the duplicates speaks.
"I've been thinking about calling him Log. It was the stupidest name I could come up with."
@[Wolfbane]
