01-17-2017, 06:23 PM
Contaminated, comes to her mind as she looks the putrid stallion over. Of course, the night lends him her guise well and allows him the ability to appear black and hale, with a bit of heft to him but Sinew can tell he is sick and rotten, - she can smell it on him, like a second skin he wears all too well. Still, the stink of carrion-flesh is not enough to keep her at bay, she is too bold, too curious, too fearless.
(Cannibal, she remembers naming him in her brain from the first time she laid eyes on him and felt him trying to suck on the broken bone of her fear - except she had none, and his nibbling power had crawled back into his skin, chastened by the bold face she turned him, staring the goat-god down until each of them bared their teeth in shared grins of secretive knowing that one could not best the other, not them, oh no.)
Contamination, she thinks, as she takes in the slack jaw and the feverish glint to his eyes that seemed fixed on nothing but the night. Sinew is sharp enough to recognize the adoration in his face that he keeps fixed upon the blackness of the sky, as if awaiting a benevolent kiss from it’s starless lips. She laughs, at the chilly grumble that comes from his mouth - she may be a brood, but not one blanketed in safety! Her lips caved, gave in to a mocking smile that kept her mouth soft and feminine (wily, even) as she replied, “Winter, no, but death and the night just might.”
But he presses on, insisting that she seeks something.
Does she?
No, she had the goat-god and his twin sons.
(Once, she had a grand adventure at a dragon’s side through the intestines of Time that brought her back a mare when she had left a filly. Once, she had his burning-winged daughter who spoke to her from inside her pregnant belly, a slithering whisper always in the back of her mind.)
No, she seeks nothing.
But she is still there.
She meets his eyes; “No, I seek nothing. Tell me, are you nothing because you smell like the night’s refuse of bone and stink.”
(Cannibal, she remembers naming him in her brain from the first time she laid eyes on him and felt him trying to suck on the broken bone of her fear - except she had none, and his nibbling power had crawled back into his skin, chastened by the bold face she turned him, staring the goat-god down until each of them bared their teeth in shared grins of secretive knowing that one could not best the other, not them, oh no.)
Contamination, she thinks, as she takes in the slack jaw and the feverish glint to his eyes that seemed fixed on nothing but the night. Sinew is sharp enough to recognize the adoration in his face that he keeps fixed upon the blackness of the sky, as if awaiting a benevolent kiss from it’s starless lips. She laughs, at the chilly grumble that comes from his mouth - she may be a brood, but not one blanketed in safety! Her lips caved, gave in to a mocking smile that kept her mouth soft and feminine (wily, even) as she replied, “Winter, no, but death and the night just might.”
But he presses on, insisting that she seeks something.
Does she?
No, she had the goat-god and his twin sons.
(Once, she had a grand adventure at a dragon’s side through the intestines of Time that brought her back a mare when she had left a filly. Once, she had his burning-winged daughter who spoke to her from inside her pregnant belly, a slithering whisper always in the back of her mind.)
No, she seeks nothing.
But she is still there.
She meets his eyes; “No, I seek nothing. Tell me, are you nothing because you smell like the night’s refuse of bone and stink.”