07-03-2020, 10:35 AM
The water rushes and the ice creaks, but the stopper he puts in holds - not for long, he gets that, but he only needs a few seconds to turn, dive back to grab her, and -
aaand she’s jumped. Muttering furiously under his breath, the ice dragon makes a split-second decision to dive for her - but this will be no easy pickup. In fact, the buckskin lady has a headstart in plummeting to her death, and the only thing he can do to keep her from reaching the rocks below the surface (or, if she’s lucky, fall between them and hit the bottom - if that doesn’t cause her to break a leg or smash her head on a rock, anyway) - the only thing to do is to grab her with claw and nail, and not too softly at that. In fact she doesn’t even give him time to think of how and where he grabs her. Feeling his claws dig into the softer parts of her flesh, he curses a few times more under his breath; he drops her further downstream, where the water is moving not as fast, but the red trickles from her body and from his sharper appendages into the water just as easily.
Dark blue, almost black, eyes frown at the buckskin mare when she emerges - he’s clearly unhappy, in fact closer to actually being angry with her. ”Never do anything like that again.” His draconic voice rumbles a little loud from the emotion. She’s forced his hand - claw really - and that’s not the kind of thing he appreciates, not at all. It feels like some test, never mind if he passed it or not, but he prefers tests to remain either vocal - which he does himself more often than not - or agreed upon beforehand. He lands with an unbothered loud splash, attempting to clean his claws of horse blood - realizing he’s never caused wounds like that before. He studies the red trails in the water as he rinses them clean, eyes turning more of a normal blue hue, in between his just previous dark navy and the ice blue he normally keeps to. But the water can’t clean everything, he sees when he lifts a paw and studies the copper residues. Does he dare lick it to clean? What happens to a predator like him, at his first taste of a fellow horse’s blood, he wonders. Would it be different from killing deer?
aaand she’s jumped. Muttering furiously under his breath, the ice dragon makes a split-second decision to dive for her - but this will be no easy pickup. In fact, the buckskin lady has a headstart in plummeting to her death, and the only thing he can do to keep her from reaching the rocks below the surface (or, if she’s lucky, fall between them and hit the bottom - if that doesn’t cause her to break a leg or smash her head on a rock, anyway) - the only thing to do is to grab her with claw and nail, and not too softly at that. In fact she doesn’t even give him time to think of how and where he grabs her. Feeling his claws dig into the softer parts of her flesh, he curses a few times more under his breath; he drops her further downstream, where the water is moving not as fast, but the red trickles from her body and from his sharper appendages into the water just as easily.
Dark blue, almost black, eyes frown at the buckskin mare when she emerges - he’s clearly unhappy, in fact closer to actually being angry with her. ”Never do anything like that again.” His draconic voice rumbles a little loud from the emotion. She’s forced his hand - claw really - and that’s not the kind of thing he appreciates, not at all. It feels like some test, never mind if he passed it or not, but he prefers tests to remain either vocal - which he does himself more often than not - or agreed upon beforehand. He lands with an unbothered loud splash, attempting to clean his claws of horse blood - realizing he’s never caused wounds like that before. He studies the red trails in the water as he rinses them clean, eyes turning more of a normal blue hue, in between his just previous dark navy and the ice blue he normally keeps to. But the water can’t clean everything, he sees when he lifts a paw and studies the copper residues. Does he dare lick it to clean? What happens to a predator like him, at his first taste of a fellow horse’s blood, he wonders. Would it be different from killing deer?
nothing burns like the cold
Leilan
@[Izora Lethia]
Two things I know I can make: pretty kids, and people mad.
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