04-10-2015, 06:50 PM
In their hurry to escape the wrath of the storm, the deer do not notice the predator in their midst. Not that he made himself easy to spot in the first place. He is hiding in the reeds when the rain starts, and is barely visible slithering across the surface amidst all the ripples; they’re paying him no mind when he crawls up on the bank, shedding one skin after another—from lowly snake to mighty crocodile, from mighty crocodile to stealthy jaguar. The tall grass provides him adequate cover and they’re practically leaping over him to get to the woods when the lightning actually starts. Tarnished waits, rolling his shoulders and wiggling his hind end—they’re coming, he knows they’re coming. The anticipation is almost too much for the young immortal to bear, but then it happens.
The stragglers come bounding after the younger, faster does and Tarnished, ever impatient, springs and lands on the first one he deems close enough. He doubts the old doe even realizes what’s happening before he sinks his claws in and wrestles her to the ground. No, realization doesn’t dawn on her until he has his mouth wrapped around her throat and is sinking his fangs into her jugular. He can see it in her eyes and she aims a slow, weak kick with her hind hoof at his side that does little more than make him grunt. It isn’t long before she goes limp, not that he waits. He starts tearing into her before her heart has stopped, overwhelmed by the absolute need to feed.
For all the devils they worshipped and the sex rituals they performed, well, religiously, the old cult certainly didn’t appreciate this kind of diet nor when he hunted around them. Senseless, they said, meanwhile they raided herds and raped both the mares and their daughters and murdered their stallions and sons. Priorities.
Tarnished snorts, which sounds a bit funny in his current spotted-kitty form.
He chuckles between bites.
At least, until the lightning strikes and the resulting thunder spooks the ever-living fuck out of him.
Snarling, the frightened jungle cat whirls around to face his would-be attacker, which turns out to be a scorched willow tree that appears to be a few limbs short since the last time he saw it. Oh. Tarnished blinks, rolling the tenseness out of his shoulders. He almost turns back to his dinner when another flicker of lightning reveals a bit of white through the willow fronds that shouldn’t be there. Curious, the shape-shifter assumes his horse form and quietly creeps in for a closer look.
The wind picks up, so much so that it rips a few of the willow’s fronds from their respective branches; he bows his head against the rain, against the fronds that whip furiously at his face and neck, his golden eyes fixed rather intensely on that bit of white. There’s spots, too. Black ones. Tarnished holds his breath, slowly maneuvering around the tree—he knew those spots well, once. Knew them as well as he knows who this is seconds before he even sees the utterly broken look on her face. “Dom?” Tarnished says, softly. “Dom… it’s… it’s me.”
The stragglers come bounding after the younger, faster does and Tarnished, ever impatient, springs and lands on the first one he deems close enough. He doubts the old doe even realizes what’s happening before he sinks his claws in and wrestles her to the ground. No, realization doesn’t dawn on her until he has his mouth wrapped around her throat and is sinking his fangs into her jugular. He can see it in her eyes and she aims a slow, weak kick with her hind hoof at his side that does little more than make him grunt. It isn’t long before she goes limp, not that he waits. He starts tearing into her before her heart has stopped, overwhelmed by the absolute need to feed.
For all the devils they worshipped and the sex rituals they performed, well, religiously, the old cult certainly didn’t appreciate this kind of diet nor when he hunted around them. Senseless, they said, meanwhile they raided herds and raped both the mares and their daughters and murdered their stallions and sons. Priorities.
Tarnished snorts, which sounds a bit funny in his current spotted-kitty form.
He chuckles between bites.
At least, until the lightning strikes and the resulting thunder spooks the ever-living fuck out of him.
Snarling, the frightened jungle cat whirls around to face his would-be attacker, which turns out to be a scorched willow tree that appears to be a few limbs short since the last time he saw it. Oh. Tarnished blinks, rolling the tenseness out of his shoulders. He almost turns back to his dinner when another flicker of lightning reveals a bit of white through the willow fronds that shouldn’t be there. Curious, the shape-shifter assumes his horse form and quietly creeps in for a closer look.
The wind picks up, so much so that it rips a few of the willow’s fronds from their respective branches; he bows his head against the rain, against the fronds that whip furiously at his face and neck, his golden eyes fixed rather intensely on that bit of white. There’s spots, too. Black ones. Tarnished holds his breath, slowly maneuvering around the tree—he knew those spots well, once. Knew them as well as he knows who this is seconds before he even sees the utterly broken look on her face. “Dom?” Tarnished says, softly. “Dom… it’s… it’s me.”
equus mutatio, immortality, disease manipulation, trait immunity