Shroud has not been taught fear. Has not suffered a harsh bite or sharp kick. No ounce of meanness has been fostered inside her newborn heart. She knows what dead smells like though, and that something could quite possibly make a meal out of her. But she remains unafraid - for now.
His over large head descends as if from on high to poke about her small self. Shroud endures his snuggling and careless rough prodding. These are nothing like the tender ministrations bestowed upon her by her mother’s mouth like kisses and a rain of love. She knows enough to know the difference but not why she doesn’t miss it.
Then — his lips are misleading in their gentle feel upon her crest. Lips bare teeth - - none of which she can see but the air buzzes above her with malice - - and bite down, hard. She grits her own teeth together. Clamps her mouth shut on the cry of pain that scrambles up her throat. Shroud will not give him any more satisfaction than the pain pinched on her young face and the scruff of a tiny hoof in the dirt.
His release brings some relief to her but not enough to erase the memory - the mark - of his teeth. Both her skin and her mind have been impressionable enough to be imprinted upon by that singular claiming bite. She finds it hard to buck thousands of years of instinct that shout resistance and subservience into her bloodstream and she can do nothing more than look up at him with a frown and a child’s hard stare.
“No, I shouldn’t.” she agrees with too adult of a manner to her tone and scrunched up face. There is still no fear in her, or even defeat. He has won nothing more than a child that cannot even manage a sigh of resignation at her plight. The only other sound coming from her is the rustle if wings at her sides as feathers jostle one another back into place. It leaves her staring at him, her small face upturned and waiting as if to say what now?
@[Tunnel] no it was perfect! but now she’s like, you’re stuck with me sorrynotsorry lol