06-02-2016, 12:06 AM
AND ABANDON, THAT GREETS YOU IN THE NIGHT WITH SNAKE EYES, THE MOST PRECIOUS KIND.
The bait does not attract the fish, but the seed is sown. He’s lost track of her in the tense moment, unwilling to go through the trouble of small-scale shifting just to find her again. It’s her hovering voice that has head pivoting, focus returning once more to the artifacts cemented in the ravine wall as the echo of her word bounces through the barren gully. Wyrm chooses against a reply, countering with the knowledge that too much salt spoils the soup. Besides, talk of overthrowing kingdoms was best planted carefully. The wind carries away his thoughts, beating against his tanned fur without providing relief from the heat while the silence stretches out between them.
He’s moments from calling out to her when he’s dragged between realms. Shifting his mind from the reality around him to the memory she’s currently in is like being mid-loop on a rollercoaster. The sensation of traveling too fast coupled with the force of gravity against the body causes his stomach to drop, and Wyrm tastes metal on his tongue. When the scene has settled (too fast for him to catch his bearings) a creature like nothing he’s ever seen before stalks before him, so high that he has to crane his neck for his head to tilt upward. It is the last thing he sees - stained rows of teeth, slitted nostrils and small, predator eyes - that sticks with him as the monstrosity of an animal descends to feed on them.
Her gasp has the other world disappearing and Wyrm can feel a physical tug as he’s drug back to the Deserts. The dry air fills his nose once more and he rises onto all four feet, head jerking towards the earth as his stomach heaves. He refuses to retch but his lips peel back over large incisors, tongue curling with the effort of the motion until the nauseating sensation has passed. “Never do that again without warning me first.” He growls, breathing deeply before plopping lazily onto the bronze sand. It’s only when Qatar enters that he raises his head, eyeing the smaller cat and the dark horse curiously as the caracal speaks. Wyrm assumes that by “it” the creature means the incredibly horrifying animal they’d both witnessed. So the two shared similar traits then? Interesting.
His original companion chooses to play her little disappearing act, causing Wyrm to wrinkle his nose in boredom - until a shadow looms over his resting form and the beast from long ago is now somehow standing mere feet from him, lizard tail disturbing the Desert floor. He can’t help himself because even now, when he feels the sharp knife of surprise in his breast at the suddenness of it, he still gazes upward with admiration. This was what he’d come here for, to see it, to know the old ones, to attempt to emulate them. The young lion rises, a deep-seated rumble cracking in his throat as he spreads his legs and begins the new shift. The first time was always the trickiest - getting the texture of the skin, the size and structure just right. His brown fur rips like fabric being hand-torn, thick, scaled skin taking its place as he multiplies in size and snaps his bones to regrow them in another direction.
A minute ticks by painfully, and then another follows and Wyrm is blinking through small eyes as he shifts his massive weight. Once gone, now reborn, he faces the forged reproduction Heartfire has created in his mind and releases a bloodcurdling roar.
He’s moments from calling out to her when he’s dragged between realms. Shifting his mind from the reality around him to the memory she’s currently in is like being mid-loop on a rollercoaster. The sensation of traveling too fast coupled with the force of gravity against the body causes his stomach to drop, and Wyrm tastes metal on his tongue. When the scene has settled (too fast for him to catch his bearings) a creature like nothing he’s ever seen before stalks before him, so high that he has to crane his neck for his head to tilt upward. It is the last thing he sees - stained rows of teeth, slitted nostrils and small, predator eyes - that sticks with him as the monstrosity of an animal descends to feed on them.
Her gasp has the other world disappearing and Wyrm can feel a physical tug as he’s drug back to the Deserts. The dry air fills his nose once more and he rises onto all four feet, head jerking towards the earth as his stomach heaves. He refuses to retch but his lips peel back over large incisors, tongue curling with the effort of the motion until the nauseating sensation has passed. “Never do that again without warning me first.” He growls, breathing deeply before plopping lazily onto the bronze sand. It’s only when Qatar enters that he raises his head, eyeing the smaller cat and the dark horse curiously as the caracal speaks. Wyrm assumes that by “it” the creature means the incredibly horrifying animal they’d both witnessed. So the two shared similar traits then? Interesting.
His original companion chooses to play her little disappearing act, causing Wyrm to wrinkle his nose in boredom - until a shadow looms over his resting form and the beast from long ago is now somehow standing mere feet from him, lizard tail disturbing the Desert floor. He can’t help himself because even now, when he feels the sharp knife of surprise in his breast at the suddenness of it, he still gazes upward with admiration. This was what he’d come here for, to see it, to know the old ones, to attempt to emulate them. The young lion rises, a deep-seated rumble cracking in his throat as he spreads his legs and begins the new shift. The first time was always the trickiest - getting the texture of the skin, the size and structure just right. His brown fur rips like fabric being hand-torn, thick, scaled skin taking its place as he multiplies in size and snaps his bones to regrow them in another direction.
A minute ticks by painfully, and then another follows and Wyrm is blinking through small eyes as he shifts his massive weight. Once gone, now reborn, he faces the forged reproduction Heartfire has created in his mind and releases a bloodcurdling roar.