05-06-2021, 10:20 AM
It would be easier to tell Aela that he has only just met the black stallion and does not know his name, but that path is foreign territory for him. Wherewolf has spent such a long time with his bitterness and his resentments that the familiar poison of their embrace is more comfortable than giving even this insignificant inch. He remains tight-lipped, only rolling his eyes when the stranger remarks on his reply.
He's laying it on thick, he knows, it's always been his way.
The black is beginning to look bored and Wherewolf wonders if he's succeeded in driving him away, but Aela's arrival seems to have revived his interest, if only a little. That thorny thing in his breast revolts. He wants to be left alone. (Somewhere, in a dark alley of his soul, something protests this. It does not want to be alone, but heavier memories curl around it, dark, forgotten tendrils filling its mouth, and its cries are drowned out by the obscurity of them. Hatred and anger well up from that bruised place instead.)
"I don't care how she feels." Then he grins at Aela when she speaks again and the glow overtakes their little gathering. His smile is broad and almost charming.
"You know, I was so sure you were too stupid to ever learn to speak," he shrugs, "I guess I was wrong, it's just a shame that that's what your voice sounds like. I hope there's no glass horses where you live, you might shatter them with it."
He turns back to the black with the intention of finally driving him off when strange images of flowered fields invade his memory. It's a flood of bright color and a feeling of safety and that's not his own but hooks on the spines of his barbed heart. Aela again, he's sure. He has never seen this place that inexplicably feels like home. His teeth snap together sharply, that northwind temper always ready to rise to her challenges. The air beside her shivers, the duplicate like a heat mirage, but solid and real, and so close that the sudden flare of its broad red-brown wings come at her like a pair of clubs. The bone there is sturdy and hard enough to bruise and stun and the false Wherewolf has none of its maker's own insecurities. It punches out at her viciously and, just as quickly, disappears, leaving just the three of them once again. Wherewolf turns to the dark Pampaian as if nothing at all has happened.
"Why the Pampas? Pretty," an ear turns back to Aela, "gets awfully dull after a while, don't you think?"
He's laying it on thick, he knows, it's always been his way.
The black is beginning to look bored and Wherewolf wonders if he's succeeded in driving him away, but Aela's arrival seems to have revived his interest, if only a little. That thorny thing in his breast revolts. He wants to be left alone. (Somewhere, in a dark alley of his soul, something protests this. It does not want to be alone, but heavier memories curl around it, dark, forgotten tendrils filling its mouth, and its cries are drowned out by the obscurity of them. Hatred and anger well up from that bruised place instead.)
"I don't care how she feels." Then he grins at Aela when she speaks again and the glow overtakes their little gathering. His smile is broad and almost charming.
"You know, I was so sure you were too stupid to ever learn to speak," he shrugs, "I guess I was wrong, it's just a shame that that's what your voice sounds like. I hope there's no glass horses where you live, you might shatter them with it."
He turns back to the black with the intention of finally driving him off when strange images of flowered fields invade his memory. It's a flood of bright color and a feeling of safety and that's not his own but hooks on the spines of his barbed heart. Aela again, he's sure. He has never seen this place that inexplicably feels like home. His teeth snap together sharply, that northwind temper always ready to rise to her challenges. The air beside her shivers, the duplicate like a heat mirage, but solid and real, and so close that the sudden flare of its broad red-brown wings come at her like a pair of clubs. The bone there is sturdy and hard enough to bruise and stun and the false Wherewolf has none of its maker's own insecurities. It punches out at her viciously and, just as quickly, disappears, leaving just the three of them once again. Wherewolf turns to the dark Pampaian as if nothing at all has happened.
"Why the Pampas? Pretty," an ear turns back to Aela, "gets awfully dull after a while, don't you think?"
@[Obscene]
