[open] Bring out your dead [Open to those of dark heart or easy to break]

[Longclaw]

Longclaw

Naturally, the white stallion retaliates, but Longclaw only struggles to smother an eat-shit smile while Deimos ties up the business. As calm as the pale horse had attempted to remain, those glaring red eyes of his made no mistake when they landed on Longclaw’s attractive forehead. The young wolf stifles his grin with the knowledge he’s garnered from this single interaction, flicks an ear behind him, and listens to the metallic finality of the magical collars as they snap together. “The God’s must’ve seen fit to give them life for some purpose, I suppose.” He shrugs in reply to his dark instructor.

As if by their own design, Longclaw’s seafoam-painted gaze drifts back to where the mare-of-many-colors has been entrapped. He understands that he should feel pity for her, given the situation she’s tangled herself up in, but the emotion simply cannot touch his heart. The iridescent horse tries as he might, pictures his sister in a similar situation, his mother, anyone - but there’s already a blue-black poison flooding the chambers of that organ. Pity no longer lives there, she’s void and null.

He swallows, (a dry, uninterested sort of action) before turning his attentions respectively back to where they began. The question is poised for a reply; Deimos is clearly patient enough to assume the red-eyed freak would have reason for all of this empty banter, but Longclaw is doubtful. Time is a precious commodity, after all, and this falsely pompous mouth-breather has done nothing but waste theirs.

One-Half contract between Wyrm and Heartfire