02-25-2016, 08:19 PM
Blood.
Screams.
(Flesh splitting apart, layer by layer, under the rake of his claws – revealing white and pink and blood tracing down the curve of muscles to the grass below.) He flexes his paws, feels his weapons slide out from their sheathes and worry the dust below him. (They say once they get a taste for blood.) He moans, his lips pulling back from his yellowed teeth and quivering tensely, he roars and it gyrates through the woods like a thunderous rumble. He paces, lumberous and wiry, a tight coil.
A powder keg surrounded by flame.
He turns to her, bright hazel eyes meeting her soft and scared gold. Stay, he cannot say it through his predators lips but she understands him. They understand each other. “Don’t go,” she whispers, backing into the dark mouth of a craggy cave. “Please, brother.” But he scents blood. Stay. She trembles and sobs, and turns to encourage the little bay along with her into the bowels of that deep stone hideaway. Be safe.
He scents blood and is gone looking for it. He is drawn to it. His stomach rumbles and his hackles quivers as his smooth shoulders arch and flex with each deliberate paw pressed into scorched earth and needles. The air is thick with black, piney, choking and hot – he coughs and stumbles, but he scents blood. He can smell it, a tiny drop on a leaf or a pool.
Or in tracing lines from claws marks through tender horseflesh.
He hears her roar and it piques something entirely untried in him.
He does not move to them for love of this place. Not yet. Maybe not ever. He does not move to them for love at all (though he knows Lupei and knows his own thirst for meat), and yet when he gets there and sees them he knows thine enemy is his, too. For now, while all their bloodlust comes together in a mighty conflagration. He circles them, his great fangs bared, bright and wide eyes reflecting the lick of fire and roil of combat. When Warship is out of his way, and Lupei clear, the tiger lunges forward, swiping a great paw at her, claws unsheathed. He curls back onto his hind, low and ready, his shoulder shifting.
He growls, strange, impossibly low rumbles and clicks like loose rocks in his throat.
Screams.
(Flesh splitting apart, layer by layer, under the rake of his claws – revealing white and pink and blood tracing down the curve of muscles to the grass below.) He flexes his paws, feels his weapons slide out from their sheathes and worry the dust below him. (They say once they get a taste for blood.) He moans, his lips pulling back from his yellowed teeth and quivering tensely, he roars and it gyrates through the woods like a thunderous rumble. He paces, lumberous and wiry, a tight coil.
A powder keg surrounded by flame.
He turns to her, bright hazel eyes meeting her soft and scared gold. Stay, he cannot say it through his predators lips but she understands him. They understand each other. “Don’t go,” she whispers, backing into the dark mouth of a craggy cave. “Please, brother.” But he scents blood. Stay. She trembles and sobs, and turns to encourage the little bay along with her into the bowels of that deep stone hideaway. Be safe.
He scents blood and is gone looking for it. He is drawn to it. His stomach rumbles and his hackles quivers as his smooth shoulders arch and flex with each deliberate paw pressed into scorched earth and needles. The air is thick with black, piney, choking and hot – he coughs and stumbles, but he scents blood. He can smell it, a tiny drop on a leaf or a pool.
Or in tracing lines from claws marks through tender horseflesh.
He hears her roar and it piques something entirely untried in him.
He does not move to them for love of this place. Not yet. Maybe not ever. He does not move to them for love at all (though he knows Lupei and knows his own thirst for meat), and yet when he gets there and sees them he knows thine enemy is his, too. For now, while all their bloodlust comes together in a mighty conflagration. He circles them, his great fangs bared, bright and wide eyes reflecting the lick of fire and roil of combat. When Warship is out of his way, and Lupei clear, the tiger lunges forward, swiping a great paw at her, claws unsheathed. He curls back onto his hind, low and ready, his shoulder shifting.
He growls, strange, impossibly low rumbles and clicks like loose rocks in his throat.
![[Image: sAxX94g.png]](http://i.imgur.com/sAxX94g.png)