i’ve been both a saint & a viper
He’d bend to her will; the voices would allow it. They quiet when she ventures close, their galavanting voices hushing at her closeness, feeding off the violence that pulsates from her very being. He’s attached to her in a way he simply cannot describe; he is wholly hers and at the same time, bound to her command. Sabra’s spectacular grin is somehow beautiful and fearsome in the burning light of Sylva and for a moment the blue beast wonders how he’s come to this - but the thought only lasts a second, for he knows exactly what he had done to put these steps into motion. It should not surprise him to be beneath the will of those voices that haunt and terrorize his mind so violently, nor that he obeys such insanity without single hesitation.
Monster, they whisper, reminding him of the blood he had spilled and the bones he had spliced. A monster, comes the voices, mournful in their snickers. He is nothing but a beast, a being created for darkness. He is reminded of this as she tumbles towards him, haphazard yet it is somehow graceful on her thin, pearl legs. He had offered her his throat; that pulsing jugular that throbs heartily beneath muscle and sinew - is he surprised that she completely ignores it?
The stake dives into his chest and there is an audible groan that passes through his onyx lips. He grimaces but otherwise is unphased by the mounting pressure and pain that sears from the wound, splintered from the wood that skewers her body. Blood swims down his chest and legs as if it was its own entity; part of him believes that it is. And when she backs away from him without a thought, careless of the wound that she had inflicted upon him, another audible exhale leaves his throat. And he notices when his blood swims in rivulets down his muscular legs and pools into dark puddles at his hooves, the voices are silent. Gone, it seems; but they are merely watching, in awe of the ruby river that runs down the blue of his skin.
Tied together by the wound and somehow by the mind, the stallion’s crystal gaze clicks carefully to Sabra, her retreating form darkening as the woods seem to swallow up her figure.
Without hesitation, the beast follows her deeper into their forest.
Balto
@[Sabra]