What the hippogryph wants is a difficult question. Right now what she wants is for the forest to stop spinning, and for her body not to sway with that spin every time her foggy eyes close. What she wants is for the candy-bright mare to turn off her colors because they shimmer in the haze of her vision and if there were anything left in her belly to expel, she almost certainly would. But these are passing desires. Transient, and in a day or two she will not care about any of them.
The hippogryph is a patient thing. Can be a patient thing. She has had patience forced upon her more than once; an unwanted lover teaching her restraint, to bide her time.
She bides her time now, stretching her claws, sheathing them again, still seated in the leaf litter scattered across the autumn forest's floor. The air is smokey crisp, not laden with the heady scent of too many wildflowers, and, slowly, the fog that presses against her brain lifts - just a little, just a bit. Enough. The Sylvan comes closer still and Manikin lifts a white-toed paw, extending it delicately to reach for the wooden shaft that swings and wags with every step, every breath.
"I am home," the words are a declaration and leave no room for argument. This is her home. She has always lived here, her manner seems to imply, though she does not bother with the magic to make the stranger believe it. This time, she lies simply for the sake of lying. It's blatantly untrue, of course, but that's never stopped her before.
The bloody stump of her tail stings as it lashes, leaving red streaks across her hindquarters like war paint and the low steady growl shifts imperceptibly to a curling purr as she looks away from the spear and the glowing blood that wells around it. The corners of her lips curve ever so slightly, a hard thing, smiling, but the cruel shape of her beak already sculpts much of her mouth into something close to a smile. The corners are soft though, and the way they turn up is wicked.
"I want everything."
The hippogryph is a greedy thing.
The hippogryph is a patient thing. Can be a patient thing. She has had patience forced upon her more than once; an unwanted lover teaching her restraint, to bide her time.
She bides her time now, stretching her claws, sheathing them again, still seated in the leaf litter scattered across the autumn forest's floor. The air is smokey crisp, not laden with the heady scent of too many wildflowers, and, slowly, the fog that presses against her brain lifts - just a little, just a bit. Enough. The Sylvan comes closer still and Manikin lifts a white-toed paw, extending it delicately to reach for the wooden shaft that swings and wags with every step, every breath.
"I am home," the words are a declaration and leave no room for argument. This is her home. She has always lived here, her manner seems to imply, though she does not bother with the magic to make the stranger believe it. This time, she lies simply for the sake of lying. It's blatantly untrue, of course, but that's never stopped her before.
The bloody stump of her tail stings as it lashes, leaving red streaks across her hindquarters like war paint and the low steady growl shifts imperceptibly to a curling purr as she looks away from the spear and the glowing blood that wells around it. The corners of her lips curve ever so slightly, a hard thing, smiling, but the cruel shape of her beak already sculpts much of her mouth into something close to a smile. The corners are soft though, and the way they turn up is wicked.
"I want everything."
The hippogryph is a greedy thing.
@[Sabra]
@Sabra
@Sabra
Hedging my bets with the tagger
