Our skin gets thicker, living out in the snow
CREVAN
Precarious banter, harmless at best, suddenly becomes the inspiration both had been searching for. “Welcome, stranger!” a voice intercedes, causing Crevan’s unassuming head to rise and his eyes to narrow. A simple adjustment to his vision gives him aid: it’s a mare, dark in body but rimmed with the glow of an unusually pale mane. From across the channel she beckons, “Please,...” and with the sound of her voice so goes the tide. The shifter waits a hairsbreadth more, just to be certain, and then his gaze is taking in that unusual and so very unmistakeable right leg of hers.
Without further delay he wades, knee-deep, into the warm ocean froth. The current is forgiving (most likely due to his talented new friend,) and in the mere span of a few strokes he begins to close the distance. Around him, Crevan could feel the tug and crash of Maugrim’s power as he watched, wide-eyed and fascinated, to see the creature take shape from the depths he commanded.
Wound had every right to be afraid. There was something even respectable in the flash of her terrified eyes as she cried out uselessly for help, but all the same it wouldn’t - couldn’t - stop them. Scrabbling to shift and drag himself up on land, Crevan watches her intently. A thrill of excitement surges through his now-changed body when she breaks free (such fight!) and with a renewed burst of energy he rockets after the hopeful escapee.
From behind her, the wolf laughs. He gives her a few strides of last effort, more so that she’ll wear herself out in the process, before the game’s inevitable win isn’t fun to draw out anymore. His forelegs stretch long and his hind legs dig deeper into the sandy loam, and then the two are running tandem while Crevan effectively cuts off her ascent to the waiting forest. (I’d find you there too, he thinks.)
He lunges, dives like a mad dog for her legs, and with his unusual girth it’s not an easy thing to avoid. The crack of his jaws closing together is a brittle Snap! Snap! that comes whenever the crippled Tephran tries to stray away from the surging waves. He’ll run her ragged if he’s got to, but with every wrong step she makes they move closer towards Sylvia’s Finisher.
His intentions grow increasingly more aggressive. The wolf stops aiming for air and beings to assault her rightly, with tooth and brute force. If her strength hadn’t begun to wane before, she would bleed it out now and for the better - at this point he’d have given the mercy killing, had she been his next meal. It’s not until he hears a possible hitch in her throat, (exhaustion?) or feels the shuddering stumble of her uneven hooves, (defeat?) that he grows relentless in his attack and all the more savage.
Best to end this quickly, quietly, while they still had the chance.
@[wound] @[Maugrim]