05-25-2018, 08:41 PM
. |
. |
. |
The Prey stare. She’s expected it, being so different from them, and her eyes hold their own unflinchingly. Her gaze (dark and feral and calculating) lingers on the emerald-and-ivory Prey for a moment longer than the rest. She senses something in him, something that is not in the others, but it sends a low chill through her belly and so she turns away before she can identify what it is.
They speak around her.
“It needs to feed. It needs a family.”
“Nexu needs a purpose. With her on our side we would be unstoppable.”
Perhaps she might snarl at the way they voice her needs as if they see within her mind. Perhaps she might nod, affirming their conclusions. She does need to feed, but not in the way they might imagine. She can easily hunt in the hidden woods of Beqanna, feasting on unsuspecting Prey and shy deer, but it is not nearly as thrilling.
She desires more and they have that.
Her gaze turns to the green-eyed mare after she finally slips into the clearing. Her nostrils quiver as she looks over the mare, assessing her horns and wings and dark mouth. Then she turns to the original Prey, eyes scanning over his short height and dark body and bright nose. Finally, her armored head twists to land on the emerald Prey, and she takes her time to note his moss-and-seafoam coloring and intent gaze and mimicking posture.
A low chortle roughly slides from her throat (a laugh, to her own ears).
She wants to tell the Prey she will stay. She will dwell in their household whether they want her to or not, murdering the smaller Prey until their woods are empty or they provide her with Prey themselves. But her tongues do not work so easily to allow their language (Father had taught her that) so she moves again, as silently as a shadow, to cut three vertical slashes against a tree trunk with her knife-tail and rub the bulk of her crown and armored body along the length of the bark.
My territory.
With a last look at their faces — leader-Prey, emerald-Prey, female-Prey — she slips into the darkness of the newborn nighttime.
They speak around her.
“It needs to feed. It needs a family.”
“Nexu needs a purpose. With her on our side we would be unstoppable.”
Perhaps she might snarl at the way they voice her needs as if they see within her mind. Perhaps she might nod, affirming their conclusions. She does need to feed, but not in the way they might imagine. She can easily hunt in the hidden woods of Beqanna, feasting on unsuspecting Prey and shy deer, but it is not nearly as thrilling.
She desires more and they have that.
Her gaze turns to the green-eyed mare after she finally slips into the clearing. Her nostrils quiver as she looks over the mare, assessing her horns and wings and dark mouth. Then she turns to the original Prey, eyes scanning over his short height and dark body and bright nose. Finally, her armored head twists to land on the emerald Prey, and she takes her time to note his moss-and-seafoam coloring and intent gaze and mimicking posture.
A low chortle roughly slides from her throat (a laugh, to her own ears).
She wants to tell the Prey she will stay. She will dwell in their household whether they want her to or not, murdering the smaller Prey until their woods are empty or they provide her with Prey themselves. But her tongues do not work so easily to allow their language (Father had taught her that) so she moves again, as silently as a shadow, to cut three vertical slashes against a tree trunk with her knife-tail and rub the bulk of her crown and armored body along the length of the bark.
My territory.
With a last look at their faces — leader-Prey, emerald-Prey, female-Prey — she slips into the darkness of the newborn nighttime.
@[Modicum Mortem] / @[Maugrim] / @[Astarael]