LONGCLAW

-I close my eyes, ignore the smoke-

It’s usually not his M.O. to interrupt, or even care for that matter, but Longclaw is inclined to slow his pace as he winds through the umbra cover of Tephran foliage because he hears a phrase that would make just about anyone curious.

...Sylvan scum like you just like trespassing on Offspring’s land?” Is all he garners from where he pauses, though it’s more than enough reason to alter his course and glide evenly from the strange heat of the treeline and out into the winter sunshine. Floating over the sands of his home shore, Longclaw is showing physically what he’s put in mentally - time in the arena and time spent patrolling has left him hardened and lean - there’s prowess and authority in every step.

When he draws alongside Diable, the elder stallion makes him seem like a slick, blue sidekick; the roan is taller, thicker even. Longclaw tilts his head, draws a lazy (yet not unsatisfied) eye over Karaugh, and tilts his lips into an approving smirk when he stops on the pinpricks she wields from her mouth. “Tell me it’s not true, Diable!” He shouts rather amusedly, his mouth widening to glean his own set of fangs, “A Sylvian, trespassing?”

He jerks ahead, all traces of earlier mirth vanishing with the aggressive step. “Gryffen seems to be lowering his standards,” He spits, jade eyes flicking away in instant boredom.

Why had he intruded again? Oh … yes, that’s right -

“I have a feeling I’m not going to like whatever it is that you’re about to say.” The gleaming guard sighs, tilting his head back once more so that might throw Diable a suggestive glance.

“Maybe we should rip your tongue clean out of your mouth, right now.” He shrugs, disregarding who she might be or what purpose she might have here. “Send you back to Sylva with a message so clear you won’t have to say a single word.” He chuckles, eyes sliding back to where she waits.

LONGCLAW

-I close my eyes, ignore the smoke-

Diable doesn’t need him, Longclaw is well-aware of this. Karaugh is little more than a pest, and a mare at that. Hardly above an afternoon meal in his mind. But it’s when they get snippy, when they start to feel that they’re ”Special”, that Longclaw likes to intrude and slap them back into their places.

Diable’s bark of laughter interrupts the growing fire in Longclaw’s heart. With the snap of his shimmering head, the fellow guard turns his apt attention back to the roan and listens as he paints a picture for Karaugh to be cast in her true light. At the mention of Kaiode, (someone Claw can only assume was a foal, based on their current use of the word ‘child’) his blue-tipped ears bury themselves against the crown of his skull and his eyes, wild and flashing, turn back to the fanged femme.

“You heard him, simpering coward.” He hisses, teeth needling into fine points as he shifts his mouth, “Whatever you’re looking for can’t be found here, so get the fuck out.” He snarls, the globes of his wild eyes suddenly combusting into striking blue flames. Exuding a raw heat, the hungry tendrils of fire spiral upwards from the sockets nestled into his skull, twisting and curling into themselves as he takes another decisive step towards the Sylvian trash. Effortlessly, Longclaw’s transformed what once could be considered beauty into this malevolent mask of demonic hate, jaws spread wide with threats he’s burning to unleash.

All Diable has to do is say the word.

LONGCLAW

-I close my eyes, ignore the smoke-

Yes, they could chase her - and Longclaw watches her haughty shift with the soft shake of his head. Ugly and stupid, not a very welcome combination. Sure, they could chase her but the blue warg sees it as a waste of time. He can’t leap into action as Diable does, (though he feels his legs strike out into a tempo that will guide him after the other guard) because he finds Karaugh and her petty little remarks beneath him.

“Diable!” He calls out, digging into the earth with renewed vigor, “Diable wait - don’t waste your time.” He says when his gait allows for them to travel in tandem together. Parallel, the two stallions will soon find the journey on foot would end fruitless - even together they couldn’t hope to outmatch her wings. The pesky bat was made to be quick and hard to see.

“Let’s find Dahmer instead, or someone else in charge. They’ll know how to deal with the nasty rodent.” The younger male laughs, a booming sound that grows in volume when their stride begins to match. “Don’t waste any more of your time on her - she’s not worth it.”

And with the gentle nudge of his fanged mouth against Diable’s scarred neck, he offers to lead them elsewhere. Let Karaugh be a shameful creature and tarry someone else. They had other enemies to devour. Longclaw fills his lungs with a deep breath of smoky haze and pulls his legs to his chest, allowing for the energy of a race to flow through his body. With the sand below them and the waves beside them, he felt as if he could run forever and (as always) he hunts for a challenge.

Diable is taller, his bloodline stretches back to descendants made for stamina just like Claw. They seem a good match.

“Channel the anger, brother!” He whoops, flames sparking at his heels to leave trails of black imprints behind him. “Race me.” The devil says, and turning a green eye to his peer he smirks wickedly.