when the stars threw down their spears and water'd heaven with their tears:
It takes Heda only a moment to realize that she’s made a serious mistake. “Good.” Wyrm thinks as the normalcy of nothingness washes over him. He calms, body stilling while his paws still cling to dirt and earth so he can gather his bearings once more. He’s so near to Heda that he can smell the putrid scent of her invading his nostrils, so he blows heavily once to rid his body of the acrid taste it leaves in his mouth. “Your father should be ashamed that a whelp like you was allowed to live.” Wyrm mumbles, two-toned eyes snapping to where she hovers above the earth.
“Your powers won’t ever save you, Heda.” He warns her, head tilting as he memorizes every line of her face, every wrong edge of her gangly body. “And your daddy isn’t here to save you either, so hold your foolish tongue.” He barks, knowing full and well that defeat has come for her. Poor, pitiful little Heda. He’d like to taste that flesh some day, so he tucks her into the back of his mind for later. “Flap and flutter all you like, silly little girl.” He thinks, a wry smile winding over his lips as his original companion denies her harshly.
The world worked differently these days.
It’s only when the spotted red mare turns her attention back to him that he moves again, circling about to stand calmly where she waits for him. “I think we’re finished with you.” He calls out to the bitter clash of blue and gold that had so rudely interrupted them. “Maybe I’ll come and see you soon, finish what I started.” He chuckles, finding her pathetic attempt at bravado humorous, but still rather sad. Heda had done the right thing, saving her own skin and tucking tail, but that mouth of hers was something no princess would ever have, especially in a Beqanna where royalty no longer existed. The age of Kings and Queens was gone, giving rise to the age of those with power. Heda’s stupidity was likely to get her killed anyways, regardless of enticing Wyrm or not.
So the green man flicks his tail idly and shows the Taigan his wonderfully made, granny-smith colored ass before giving his attention back to the paint mare. “Now where were we?” He muses, one ear tilting sideways in contemplation. “Ah, yes. I’m Wyrm, and I must say you’ve chosen wisely. Now - what do they call you? We don’t have much time for chit-chat, so let’s get to the point and then be on our way.”
did he smile his work to see? did he who made the Lamb make thee?
