08-26-2020, 09:46 AM
They fall together, and then they fall apart. His panic is so overbearing that he doesn't realize she has finally released his wing, his heart is beating too loudly in his ears, his chest heaving to quickly with breath that barely sates the thirst of his lungs, and he hyper-focuses so strongly on the thought of escape at all costs that he is lunging at her before he feels the pressure of her small teeth has gone away.
It's a clumsy-footed lunge, his feet finding poor purchase in the slick earth that they - mostly he - has churned up, and it's made clumsier by a sudden feeling of awareness trickling in around the edges of his tunnel vision. Wherewolf blinks his stormy eyes, for a second the world seems too bright and out of focus. Mid-lunge, he finally sees her, small and golden-brown, bleeding and buckling beneath his charge - it's too late to change his course.
Instead, the boy screws his eyes shut, twisting mid-lunge to avoid her with a groan, and failing miserably.
The ground beneath them is like the turmoil inside him, angry and aimless
Wherewolf hits the ground again, hard enough this time that the air is knocked from his lungs and he remains prone, gasping. He hardly remembers what has just happened. She hurt me, he thinks, so sure of himself, so sure of the events lost somewhere in a white haze of anger. Accusing eyes turn up to the girl.
Why are his ribs covered in frothy sweat? Why is he panting like he's run hard across the entire northern plateau? He bares his teeth at her from the ground and slowly finds his legs again, resettling his upset feathers with slow and careful rotations of each wing. She's bleeding and he's glad of it. He's bleeding, too, myriad knicks and scrapes sting his skin - mostly from rocks in the soil when he fell, but there are bruises, too, from the filly's hooves - and his wing aches terribly which reignites a small ball of panic that chokes him when he swallows though it doesn't overwhelm him like before. He stands apart from her, muscles shaking as the adrenaline leaves him, wary and weary, holding one wing tight and one wing out slightly to make him seem larger. The air shimmers next to him, but he is too exhausted to draw up his false-brother now, and the duplicate never materializes.
"What did you do to me, you bloody witch," His ears flatten, his boyish voice sharp and cracking in his parched throat.
It's a clumsy-footed lunge, his feet finding poor purchase in the slick earth that they - mostly he - has churned up, and it's made clumsier by a sudden feeling of awareness trickling in around the edges of his tunnel vision. Wherewolf blinks his stormy eyes, for a second the world seems too bright and out of focus. Mid-lunge, he finally sees her, small and golden-brown, bleeding and buckling beneath his charge - it's too late to change his course.
Instead, the boy screws his eyes shut, twisting mid-lunge to avoid her with a groan, and failing miserably.
The ground beneath them is like the turmoil inside him, angry and aimless
Wherewolf hits the ground again, hard enough this time that the air is knocked from his lungs and he remains prone, gasping. He hardly remembers what has just happened. She hurt me, he thinks, so sure of himself, so sure of the events lost somewhere in a white haze of anger. Accusing eyes turn up to the girl.
Why are his ribs covered in frothy sweat? Why is he panting like he's run hard across the entire northern plateau? He bares his teeth at her from the ground and slowly finds his legs again, resettling his upset feathers with slow and careful rotations of each wing. She's bleeding and he's glad of it. He's bleeding, too, myriad knicks and scrapes sting his skin - mostly from rocks in the soil when he fell, but there are bruises, too, from the filly's hooves - and his wing aches terribly which reignites a small ball of panic that chokes him when he swallows though it doesn't overwhelm him like before. He stands apart from her, muscles shaking as the adrenaline leaves him, wary and weary, holding one wing tight and one wing out slightly to make him seem larger. The air shimmers next to him, but he is too exhausted to draw up his false-brother now, and the duplicate never materializes.
"What did you do to me, you bloody witch," His ears flatten, his boyish voice sharp and cracking in his parched throat.
@[Aela]
