there's fire in your blood
 | Mazikeen hangs back, her reptilian head tilting curiously to the side, and she feels no strong urge to deny herself the joy of watching Gale have to suffer the wrath of the dying stallion and his dangerous hooves. This image breaks through her wild rage and she returns to stalking movements with her eyes fixed on the pair and not even daring to blink. She is hungry and furious but also delighting in both the idea of Gale’s bones breaking and how he shifts into an enormous crocodile to bring the stallion to the ground. This continuous contradiction of feelings surrounding her new king should drive her crazy, should be a matter she should obsess and fret over, but Mazikeen finds she does not mind anymore. There is pleasure to be found both in his (temporary) injuries and his power and that's enough for her.
And she does not begrudge him for being the to bring down the horse - there will be plenty of more opportunities for them to wrestle prey down together if this carnivorous need in her does not fade. So for now, she watches before moving closer.
Her eyes do not drift to Gale, they remain fixated on the dying creature.
She hears it too, the same noise Sickle had made. But Mazikeen doesn’t pause to frown. She burns again, small flashes of her fire aura appearing when there is no piece of her skin left for the markings to take up. There is no thought except for the need to make that sound stop. She surges forward, wearing the gigantic cave hyena form that Gale had worn when she had confronted him after he had killed her the first time. When she had to tear open her eyes in order to see again, when she had just grown back her heart.
She takes on his colouring from then too - mostly perlino with a bit of navy, back before he had been all gold and before she had left her mark on him with the return of the blue. But those eyes remain the same, hovering between red and orange as she snarls.
She would laugh about it, about mimicking him in this way because it is almost certainly a joke, but she is too lost in the moment and she does not hesitate before she tears through the throat of the fallen horse until there is nothing left to gasp. Until memories of last night when it had been their daughter and not a stranger fade and seep into the ground with the stallion’s blood.
Her eyes remain open and they begin to roll backwards with a wash of delight as she begins to feed, forgetting entirely - for now - that she is not alone.
m a z i k e e n . |
@  Gale
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