you've got to move slowly, take and eat my body like it's holy.
She turns abruptly, ears flat against her head fearfully when he reveals himself in the dying light. Her eyes quickly examine him as she stumbles backwards in an effort to put some distance between them. The horn growing from his head looks somewhat like her own but she doesn’t think he can be trusted. The hammering of her heart against her ribs demands that she remain wary of this one. Maybe it’s his magic, hanging like static in the air, that sets her on edge or maybe it’s the eerie quiet that surrounds him. Even the birds and other wildlife watch the scene unfold with their breath caught in their throats.
Sabbath lets out a snort at the idea of being called small. Vulgaris had told her, when her shoulders were a little more bony and immature, that she was greater than any she might face. She takes a slow breath and releases it as she lifts her chin. If she cannot be brave, then she can at least feign the kind of strength she needs to defend herself here.
“I am dangerous things. Maybe you’re the one who shouldn’t be out here alone,” she says with narrowed eyes. Now the young serpent moves closer, shoulders back and eyes narrowed slightly as she dares him to challenge her strength. She’s too young to know that strength comes from more than just physical strength but Vulgaris, of course, never taught her about the magic others can have. All she sees are blunt teeth, vulnerable flesh, and a single horn to keep Eight safe. The naïve girl thinks he would be easy prey.
She’s too young to know better but she’s certainly old enough to learn.
“My name is Sabbath. And I’m not small, I’m nearly grown,” she insists, stepping ever closer until they’re so close she could reach out and touch him now. (And a part of her wants to explore his skin, wants to gather all that electricity crackling quietly around him, but she refrains. She will only imagine what it would be like to sink her teeth into the meat of him for now.) The serpent girl watches him, waits for him to make the next move. The last blazing sliver of the sun finally sets and leaves them in the pale moonlight. Sabbath’s red and black scales turn to purple and blue, but her eyes remain a stubborn sage green.
“Can your wings change?” she suddenly asks as she nods at the appendages. Leliana’s always did, she knew, but perhaps his are always feathers. Always to be plucked like common fowl. Sabbath licks her tongue across her fangs without realizing, suddenly ravenously hungry at the thought of devouring a pheasant or quail.
Sabbath lets out a snort at the idea of being called small. Vulgaris had told her, when her shoulders were a little more bony and immature, that she was greater than any she might face. She takes a slow breath and releases it as she lifts her chin. If she cannot be brave, then she can at least feign the kind of strength she needs to defend herself here.
“I am dangerous things. Maybe you’re the one who shouldn’t be out here alone,” she says with narrowed eyes. Now the young serpent moves closer, shoulders back and eyes narrowed slightly as she dares him to challenge her strength. She’s too young to know that strength comes from more than just physical strength but Vulgaris, of course, never taught her about the magic others can have. All she sees are blunt teeth, vulnerable flesh, and a single horn to keep Eight safe. The naïve girl thinks he would be easy prey.
She’s too young to know better but she’s certainly old enough to learn.
“My name is Sabbath. And I’m not small, I’m nearly grown,” she insists, stepping ever closer until they’re so close she could reach out and touch him now. (And a part of her wants to explore his skin, wants to gather all that electricity crackling quietly around him, but she refrains. She will only imagine what it would be like to sink her teeth into the meat of him for now.) The serpent girl watches him, waits for him to make the next move. The last blazing sliver of the sun finally sets and leaves them in the pale moonlight. Sabbath’s red and black scales turn to purple and blue, but her eyes remain a stubborn sage green.
“Can your wings change?” she suddenly asks as she nods at the appendages. Leliana’s always did, she knew, but perhaps his are always feathers. Always to be plucked like common fowl. Sabbath licks her tongue across her fangs without realizing, suddenly ravenously hungry at the thought of devouring a pheasant or quail.