07-09-2018, 09:05 PM
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T hey are demented, salivating, bloodthirsty moths flocking to a daring flame. The call that rides on the wind reaches her ears (“Sylvans,” whispered against autumn trees and shadowy crevices) from within her imprisonment. Wound lifts her head carefully from its position against the chilled wall of the cavern, sullen eyes watching as her captor first acknowledges the beckoning call and then drags her from the shade.Her shoulder aches with the movement of the walk and by the time they reach the gathering the fragile scab has splintered and bled once more. Crevan’s teeth did fine damage to her skin and the tender tissue underneath, forming a ragged gash that seems to refuse to heal. Wound’s tangled forelock lies against her coffee eyes — eyes which scan the crowd with the certain timid shine of a fearful prey-creature. This is a kingdom meeting, she realizes with a quiet sort of reflection, but her mouth stays silent to their snapping words. A bitter tendril of amusement ripples against her stomach at their silence, each creature staring at the other with sealed lips and haunted eyes. Her humor is washed away by the sight of another mare (dainty and doe-eyed) caught like a butterfly in a jar. Pity sours in Wound’s stomach and her hollow eyes turn toward the other mare with a look so tender it might be the only sign of warmth in the chill of Sylva. She manages to half-heartedly toss her neck away from Maugrim’s lips, if only to prove she might still have some fight left in her. It’s waning though, a fading candle-flame licking against the cold hand of darkness, and if he rebukes her she will not talk back. Instead she stands among the snapping dogs and howling beasts of the night, eyes hollow and body bleeding and head hanging low. |
credit to nat of adoxography.
wound is here in sylva! anyone is welcome to come and torture or talk to her. i'm down for pretty much anything as long as death doesn't happen! just tag wound's account in the opening post <3