10-24-2021, 06:42 PM
i'm torn from the truth that holds my soul
i'm down in the grave where I belong --
The panther stands down, but he does not.
He remains poised and unsure, tense beneath his armor, his dark eyes watching her with a clear distrust. To him, it did not seem normal for a predator to back off from a fight unless they felt they were outmatched. He did not yet realize how he appeared to everyone else; that while he had been so very small in comparison to his towering mother he was still much taller and more imposing than any other child his age, accompanied by all the armor and weapons he had been born equipped with.
When she shifts into an equine form he is all the more confused, evident in the way he falters backwards a step, his knife-tail still elevated.
He has never actually gotten this close to an Other before, and she does not react that way he had expected. Many of them gave him and his mother a wide berth, doing whatever they could within their means to go unnoticed and undetected (it was rare that they actually did; if they made it past his mother unscathed it usually only meant she was not hungry). But she did not seem afraid. In fact, she seemed curious, and he was not entirely sure how to handle that.
He stares at her, his impossibly dark eyes mostly flat and unreadable, but they flicker with an apparent confusion as he tries to decipher everything that she says. He is surprised to find that he can understand most of it, but getting the words to form on his tongue in response proves to be more difficult. So instead he freezes, letting her talk, and when silence builds between them and he does not know how to fill it with his voice takes a cautious step towards her. Hunt, she says, and this is the word most familiar to him, and he nods his head, the clicking sound he makes in his throat is meant to be one of affirmation.
He watches as she lets the tip of his sharp-edged tail come to rest near her throat, and for a long moment he leaves it there. He tilts his head in a way that suggests he is contemplating something, his tail wavering for a moment as if he is going to press it against her skin. Prey did not often offer themselves up like this, but then again, he already knew she was not normal prey. Shifting his black eyes to her bright ones he finally pulls his tail away, and he slowly returns her introduction with one of his own—the closest sound he could compare to the noises his mother used to call for him, “Fret.”
Taking a step back, he moves to walk in a half circle around her. He looks at her equine form, at the hooves that had previously been paws, circling back around to the mouth that had once had fangs. “How?”
i'm down in the grave where I belong --
The panther stands down, but he does not.
He remains poised and unsure, tense beneath his armor, his dark eyes watching her with a clear distrust. To him, it did not seem normal for a predator to back off from a fight unless they felt they were outmatched. He did not yet realize how he appeared to everyone else; that while he had been so very small in comparison to his towering mother he was still much taller and more imposing than any other child his age, accompanied by all the armor and weapons he had been born equipped with.
When she shifts into an equine form he is all the more confused, evident in the way he falters backwards a step, his knife-tail still elevated.
He has never actually gotten this close to an Other before, and she does not react that way he had expected. Many of them gave him and his mother a wide berth, doing whatever they could within their means to go unnoticed and undetected (it was rare that they actually did; if they made it past his mother unscathed it usually only meant she was not hungry). But she did not seem afraid. In fact, she seemed curious, and he was not entirely sure how to handle that.
He stares at her, his impossibly dark eyes mostly flat and unreadable, but they flicker with an apparent confusion as he tries to decipher everything that she says. He is surprised to find that he can understand most of it, but getting the words to form on his tongue in response proves to be more difficult. So instead he freezes, letting her talk, and when silence builds between them and he does not know how to fill it with his voice takes a cautious step towards her. Hunt, she says, and this is the word most familiar to him, and he nods his head, the clicking sound he makes in his throat is meant to be one of affirmation.
He watches as she lets the tip of his sharp-edged tail come to rest near her throat, and for a long moment he leaves it there. He tilts his head in a way that suggests he is contemplating something, his tail wavering for a moment as if he is going to press it against her skin. Prey did not often offer themselves up like this, but then again, he already knew she was not normal prey. Shifting his black eyes to her bright ones he finally pulls his tail away, and he slowly returns her introduction with one of his own—the closest sound he could compare to the noises his mother used to call for him, “Fret.”
Taking a step back, he moves to walk in a half circle around her. He looks at her equine form, at the hooves that had previously been paws, circling back around to the mouth that had once had fangs. “How?”
-- f r e t
@Arrowe