I am a huntress.
I am a woman of incredible eyes, sharpened talons, and softened feathers. I am a horse made eagle, with a wing span enough to create a large gust of wind and claws large enough to wrap around the hock of a Clydesdale. Yet here I am, dwindling like a dandelion in the cover of shadows; they cover all my scary secrets.
Pupils dilate, quickly enlarging and minimizing, in and out, as mice of prey scamper through emerald blades. I am not hungry, I am bored. However when I am standing, I am hungry. If I am not busy, I crave anything and everything. I crave fish, and mice and grit. I crave everything but being here, and yet here I am.
Let me rephrase myself; I am not a good huntress.
I swing my head to quiet an itch at my shoulder, only beneath my wing when suddenly hear a masculine voice. Spooked, I pivot hastily to analyze the intruder head on, my ears pinned tightly against my scalp: I see nothing.
“Your newest nightmare if you don’t reveal yourself at once,” I know I am not threatening, my voice being more frustrated than terrifying. I don’t have the energy to catch a salmon, let alone fight paranormal activity. Though, I do believe it is the effort that counts, not only the delivery. Unless it was a real battle, in which case whoever does not win is most definitely a loser, regardless of the effort shown.
He assembles like crystals all shimmering into one solid figure. A golden hue, contrasting heavily against the blackness of shade, and I feel myself staring maybe a second too long. He looks like the sun after years and years of fading, with soft hair and wings that surround his barrel like a blanketed night sky. If I wasn’t so angry with him, I might have found him rather attractive.
Alas, I have issues forgetting things.
Aggravated, I swish my tail menacingly (hah, or so I thought) against my flank, my nostrils erupting with air to form a disgruntled snort. “If you are some form of my guardian angel, please by all means resign. You aren’t very good at your job.”
I am a woman of incredible eyes, sharpened talons, and softened feathers. I am a horse made eagle, with a wing span enough to create a large gust of wind and claws large enough to wrap around the hock of a Clydesdale. Yet here I am, dwindling like a dandelion in the cover of shadows; they cover all my scary secrets.
Pupils dilate, quickly enlarging and minimizing, in and out, as mice of prey scamper through emerald blades. I am not hungry, I am bored. However when I am standing, I am hungry. If I am not busy, I crave anything and everything. I crave fish, and mice and grit. I crave everything but being here, and yet here I am.
Let me rephrase myself; I am not a good huntress.
I swing my head to quiet an itch at my shoulder, only beneath my wing when suddenly hear a masculine voice. Spooked, I pivot hastily to analyze the intruder head on, my ears pinned tightly against my scalp: I see nothing.
“Your newest nightmare if you don’t reveal yourself at once,” I know I am not threatening, my voice being more frustrated than terrifying. I don’t have the energy to catch a salmon, let alone fight paranormal activity. Though, I do believe it is the effort that counts, not only the delivery. Unless it was a real battle, in which case whoever does not win is most definitely a loser, regardless of the effort shown.
He assembles like crystals all shimmering into one solid figure. A golden hue, contrasting heavily against the blackness of shade, and I feel myself staring maybe a second too long. He looks like the sun after years and years of fading, with soft hair and wings that surround his barrel like a blanketed night sky. If I wasn’t so angry with him, I might have found him rather attractive.
Alas, I have issues forgetting things.
Aggravated, I swish my tail menacingly (hah, or so I thought) against my flank, my nostrils erupting with air to form a disgruntled snort. “If you are some form of my guardian angel, please by all means resign. You aren’t very good at your job.”
B r i n e
@[tobiah]