10-22-2019, 11:39 AM
He has always enjoyed the quiet solitude of the jungle. Some days, when he sits still long enough, the birds even use him as a perch and preen themselves along his back. Part of him hopes Ruinam does not come for their fight so that he might get them to come land on him again. A faint smile crosses his face as he watches the vines swaying in the breeze or the last droplets of rain dripping down slick jungle leaves. In this moment, he is free of their arguing and their violence.
Free, at least, until he hears the Resort leader drawing closer and his pace quickening.
He lets out a slow sigh and watches him as he circles, presumably his left shoulder exposed to the witch as he trips and trots along. The jungle trees occasionally break their line of sight but his circle varies very little as he moves along, perhaps twenty feet away. Maleficar knows he is too heavy to move gracefully in this jungle after a good rain. The leaves and mud are too slick and the tree roots are too eager to snag on his hooves when he runs. And besides, he’s almost certainly the slower between the two of them.
But while Ruinam prefers to remain silent as he prepares himself, the witch prefers to lighten the mood. The thick tension in the air, coupled with the humidity of the jungle, are too uncomfortable for him to simply tolerate. “<I>I really wish we had met under better circumstances. I quite like the islands,</i>” he says, his tone gentle and quiet just before the birds he had been trying to lure closer all burst from their perches. He turns his ink black head curiously and watches the small fox pounce from its hiding place, tiny teeth bared. Even though they eat his favorite animals, he rather likes foxes, he thinks.
Now is not the time to let his daydreams come drifting in, he reminds himself quickly, and turns his head back to watch Ruinam come charging at him. He’s already only ten feet away, at perhaps twenty degrees from Maleficar so he can land a proper attack on his left shoulder.
“<I>Foxglove, hemlock, stinging nettle. I have got a score to settle,</i>” he mutters just seconds before the white stallion’s teeth collide with him. But his spell is quick and his blood carries the toxic properties of the plants he has named. The momentum built up from Ruinam’s charge sends the black witch stumbling back and wincing visibly as his bite sinks into the left shoulder. Once the poisonous blood is drawn and Ruinam releases his grip on the witch's skin, Maleficar is quick to stumble back and watch, though his steps with that left foreleg are ginger and place little weight on the limb.
“<I>I didn’t think you would draw enough blood for it to kill you, but I will heal you once we’re done. I’m so sorry,</i>” he offers, watching Ruinam closely with those dark red eyes framed with concern. Perhaps the stinging nettle was too much, he thinks with a visible frown across his lips. He glances at his shoulder as the blood gathers at the wound and seeps slowly down his shoulder. He curses himself for such a panicked move but what’s done is done, he supposes.
Maleficar swallows hard and lifts his chin once more to watch as the pale stallion resumes his circle at a walk this time. But he seems to remain closer now, circling at perhaps only ten feet while the tall witch remains in his place. His ears perk forward as he listens for any sign that the poison has grown to be too much for his opponent while his heart hammers nervously against his ribs.
Free, at least, until he hears the Resort leader drawing closer and his pace quickening.
He lets out a slow sigh and watches him as he circles, presumably his left shoulder exposed to the witch as he trips and trots along. The jungle trees occasionally break their line of sight but his circle varies very little as he moves along, perhaps twenty feet away. Maleficar knows he is too heavy to move gracefully in this jungle after a good rain. The leaves and mud are too slick and the tree roots are too eager to snag on his hooves when he runs. And besides, he’s almost certainly the slower between the two of them.
But while Ruinam prefers to remain silent as he prepares himself, the witch prefers to lighten the mood. The thick tension in the air, coupled with the humidity of the jungle, are too uncomfortable for him to simply tolerate. “<I>I really wish we had met under better circumstances. I quite like the islands,</i>” he says, his tone gentle and quiet just before the birds he had been trying to lure closer all burst from their perches. He turns his ink black head curiously and watches the small fox pounce from its hiding place, tiny teeth bared. Even though they eat his favorite animals, he rather likes foxes, he thinks.
Now is not the time to let his daydreams come drifting in, he reminds himself quickly, and turns his head back to watch Ruinam come charging at him. He’s already only ten feet away, at perhaps twenty degrees from Maleficar so he can land a proper attack on his left shoulder.
“<I>Foxglove, hemlock, stinging nettle. I have got a score to settle,</i>” he mutters just seconds before the white stallion’s teeth collide with him. But his spell is quick and his blood carries the toxic properties of the plants he has named. The momentum built up from Ruinam’s charge sends the black witch stumbling back and wincing visibly as his bite sinks into the left shoulder. Once the poisonous blood is drawn and Ruinam releases his grip on the witch's skin, Maleficar is quick to stumble back and watch, though his steps with that left foreleg are ginger and place little weight on the limb.
“<I>I didn’t think you would draw enough blood for it to kill you, but I will heal you once we’re done. I’m so sorry,</i>” he offers, watching Ruinam closely with those dark red eyes framed with concern. Perhaps the stinging nettle was too much, he thinks with a visible frown across his lips. He glances at his shoulder as the blood gathers at the wound and seeps slowly down his shoulder. He curses himself for such a panicked move but what’s done is done, he supposes.
Maleficar swallows hard and lifts his chin once more to watch as the pale stallion resumes his circle at a walk this time. But he seems to remain closer now, circling at perhaps only ten feet while the tall witch remains in his place. His ears perk forward as he listens for any sign that the poison has grown to be too much for his opponent while his heart hammers nervously against his ribs.