"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
She stands stationary, a black raven surrounded by white snow and frosty tips. Her muzzle lips the surface of the floor, sifting through flakes. Her mind is numb, it has been numb since Kagerus pulled her from the field and homed her in the safe refuge of Hyaline, a place not yet home but not strange either. Her nights were no longer filled with sudden alertness and tense muscles. It had seemed like years since she felt herself wake up from a sound sleep, and last night she had finally done just that.
For a minute, she felt at ease with her surroundings.
Not here though, here she was back to full guard and attention. Deep brown eyes shift backwards at the sound of a broken twig, her wings firmly pushing into her sides as if to provide pressure to relieve her anxiety. Slowly, her head lifts to analyze the pathway behind her. Nothing but large overgrown pine trees, untouched snow, and the odd songbird.
She takes a few steps forward, her talons sinking into the frozen ground as if stepping through butter. As the sun rises, snow flakes begin to softly fall and cover her tracks as if she had never been meandering at all. Her roan coat becoming more and more white with every flake that drifts down to her back. She exhales, finding refuge beneath a large pine tree with a wide spread of branches that provide shelter.
Wearing a crown now, truly does not imprison the beast within him.
He answers the call of the hunger within. From the field he comes from, seeking the thrill of the hunt. The only thing that has ever given him life. The blood that fills him with life, the crush of bones that makes him stronger. He would always be a beast, a carnivore, a predator.
The cold fills his bones to the brim, but the silence and death it brings ignites him. He is not a foreigner to the common lands of Beqanna, but at one point he had lived among these woods, calling them home before he found his way to Sylva. The hound does not forget his hunting grounds, and neither does he forget the fresh scent of a prey.
Her scent blinds him with lust. A rage sometimes he cannot fully control. The hunger would always consume him. But he gives in so easily, so willingly. He can never deny the requests of her, his hunger.
The hound follows the path, dusted by fresh snow, does not halt him there. The faint tracks of talons strike his interest, his curiosity lighting up wandering what sort of creature he was following. But his bloodlust pushes it out of his mind, quickly forgetting his own thoughts, his own chosen path. The hunger cares little for morals, principles, and rules. It only knows blood.
He breaths in her exhale, tasting her scent, her breath, at the tip of her nose. Finding her under the large pine tree, a refuge that would not protect her so easily from the king of the forest. He prowls forward, paws firmly placing one another on the frozen ground.
The beast does not hide, taking his time to circle around her and attack was forgotten. His instincts thrown out into the darkness. Blood is what he wanted. Hunger to fill. Who would stop him?
“All alone,” he says with a pleasant smile.
Sinner
angels banished from heaven have no choice but to become devils
12-11-2018, 01:16 PM (This post was last modified: 12-11-2018, 01:17 PM by Brine.)
He is there like a bedtime monster, his eyes glowing a hideous yellow that causes her skin to crawl. Her eyes trace over his stature, watching as every step he takes has purpose. Her head raises, expanding her nostrils and outstretching her head before letting out a loud snort that echoes off the walls of pine trees and shrubs.
His voice curls into her ears like a knife sliding into the fat of an animal, effortlessly yet cringing. Her body is obviously tense, her muscles tightened before letting out a short, “what’s it to you?”
Brine hates feeling this way; scared, vulnerable. It is not in her nature to feel this way, but yet it has been happening so much lately. One year ago, she would have been a body of confidence and fearlessness, but now she counts every breath that is forced through her lungs in the company of strangers.
Let alone this thing.
The scent of him lingers in her nostrils, it smells of masculinity and fire. It has been years since she felt this close to a male, but could she even consider him such? Half hound, half bear, half horse… What is he even? A figment of her imagination? Death come to bring her back beneath the ground?
“Are you alone?” She stares back momentarily despite the slight mocking tone left hanging in the air, still uneasy yet alive and therefore a little relieved. If he wanted to kill her, he would of done so.
Or maybe he will, but not now.
How would he do it? A torturous hour? A second to black? Her curiosity begins to sculpt into the endless possibilities that could become of her, but still she does not move. Our little bird did not fear death. For the life she had lived, the hours without sleep that she re-lived the moments that still left scars on her mind… Anytime would be a good time to go.
Now, in fact, would be a good time.
She almost finds herself asking him, but her mouth runs dry. Able to think about it and plan, but never able to execute.
Her words are short, but there is an obvious tension in them.
The hound’s lips curl wider in response to the blue roan mare’s words. He had made the better choice of not just going in for the kill. It would have ruined the potential fun he is seeing already unfolding in the few moments he has shared with the stranger. However, the crowned autumn king had a sinister liking to playing with his food just before he devoured it.
He finishes circling around her, stopping directly in front of where she stood facing. The hellhound’s glowing gaze did not leave her own, and neither did his wolfish grin that spread from ear to ear revealing sharp canine teeth. Sinner could already tell the mare was on edge, the way her muscles tensed the moment he came into her presence.
“Do you see anyone else?” He asks in return, matching her own mocking tone once again. There would be no one else. He would make sure of that. No one would be here to hear her screams or witness him tearing her flesh piece by piece as he devoured her apart. At least when he decided it would be time.
Then again, maybe there would be a chance for a hunt.
He always loved a good hunt.
“I’m just curious why you are all alone out here,” he continues again, still wearing that satisfied smile and identical tone. “Don’t you know it’s dangerous?” He takes a step closer to the little bird. “There are all sorts of monsters the lingering within these woods.” Monsters such as himself, but he is a special kind of beast. The kind that were designed and fashioned with a purpose—a purpose he has forsaken for good now.
12-14-2018, 05:35 PM (This post was last modified: 12-14-2018, 05:37 PM by Brine.)
She feels like a mouse at the mercy of a cat. Her heart beat quickens as he rounds to her front, stopping to stare at her head on. Suddenly she feels exposed, and naked. Nothing but the sound of wind whispering through the trees and the light hum of chatter somewhere beyond sight.
“I do not,” she retorts, her ears flattening instinctively against her skull, lifting her head into a more prideful pose, despite the vibration she feels in her throat. Two seconds and she could lift into the air like a bird taking flight; her wings slightly extending from her body with the thought.
But something is intriguing about her.
Brine can feel his eyes trace over her, but not because her curves have filled into a woman’s physique. She is meat on a stick for him, a steak seasoned just right. And yet Brine does not flee or fly, she stands there like a deer in headlights; frozen, but not blank. No, she stays because she thinks he may be more than a hellhound chasing blood.
“Don’t you know that curiosity killed the cat?” Her voice is soft, a whisper almost, but yet with a certain amount of strength lingering in the air as she challenges him back. If he wished to rip her limb from limb he would, no amount of sweet talking and tail flicking would change that fact. Brine would not go out a coward.
Not like everyone before her.
“If I was worried about danger, I wouldn’t be here would I?” She reaches back to adjust an itch that arose on her shoulder, maybe nerves tingling at the tips of her hair.
“There are no monsters worse than the ones in my head.”
12-23-2018, 02:12 PM (This post was last modified: 12-23-2018, 02:13 PM by Sinner.)
there is but one rule hunt or be hunted
There is something about this little bird that reminds him of Valdis. Though, there is something different from the way she twists and turns between being fearful and brave though.
He takes note of each thing she does, the way she twists at the movement of him stopping and staring at her head on and the way she reacts to his words. It brings satisfaction. There was something fascinating to watch as the prey scrambled at the possibility of life and death.
The black mare had been his first victim at that. She had tried to find her strength, the bravery had faltered at times, but still she had fought in the end. He almost wishes he had killed her there, but something told him he would see that mare again (and maybe then he would get his taste of her).
But she, this little bird, is just the beginning of another game. Another thrill he locks onto, to play with or kill, it did not matter to him.
Her fear is obvious just as much as her strength is as she challenges him back. “Thank god I am no cat then,” he says with a wolfish laugh. It seems clear to him that she knows she is simply not going to be eaten alive. Perhaps you are something more, he thinks and licks his lips as his gaze glints at the thought of that.
“You never quite know,” he says in reply. “Not everyone is so cunning with what they do.” The naïvetés of the way life can be does not always put others in the position to be worried about the dangers. Children are warned to stay close to home, and not wander. But the heart and the curiosity of the world makes them decide otherwise.
His head tilts slightly at her words. “What a wild idea that really is,” he says with a sarcastic tone. As if the troubles of this world could never touch him, and perhaps they never will. Sinner has never worried about the demons that could haunt him or the voices that such creatures allowed to take over them. “What are your monsters like?” He asks, a hint of curiosity lingers in his enquiry.
Truthfully, he does not care about the demons and monsters that haunt others. There was something with these so-called monsters that revealed the deepest of weaknesses of others. The very monsters that controlled others who allowed them to have the upper hand and power. It was a power he wanted, a control he desired to use for his own. Her monsters would become his weapon.
