08-18-2015, 04:27 PM
You want to talk about monsters that come crashing out of the brush? Ok, we can roll with that. What could possibly be more terrifying than an Ice Demon coming out of the brush in this summer’s heat? It defies all logic; what mortal could hold such power? Who could it be, if not an ally of his master? Some... thing dragged from the icy ring of hell against its will and forced to torment them both.
I mean, it could be. Or it could just be Belgarath, playing with his powers again. What a jerkface.
He remembers the boy he trampled, the sick little twinges of pleasure he got from kicking the prone frame with his big ‘ol hooves. While he’ll always be partial to ripping the feathers off of lady wings and bending their bodies to his will, there’s nothing wrong with trying to share the love. Women - the weak ones, anyway - were usually afraid of him because of his size and build. Men, not so much. Their descent is farrrr more entertaining to watch. They would learn soon enough that it isn’t safe. Nowhere is safe. The ice… it can go anywhere.
He watches the stallion lay his weary head against the rough surface of the tree, thinking that he must be a very tired boy, if he could find that comfortable. But there is no rest for the weary and no rest for the wicked, so Belgarath lets his imagination wander. Hmm… he looks to the tree, and freezes a couple of leaves and small twigs, moving out to a greenless stick. Nothing that would really hurt the bedraggled looking fellow, but would probably startle him when the fall. And fall then did, with a crack, and he expanded the water in the tree and broke the frozen pieces off. They fall towards the white and brownish-grayish stallion, and he waits to see what happens next.
Oh. This is fun...
I mean, it could be. Or it could just be Belgarath, playing with his powers again. What a jerkface.
He remembers the boy he trampled, the sick little twinges of pleasure he got from kicking the prone frame with his big ‘ol hooves. While he’ll always be partial to ripping the feathers off of lady wings and bending their bodies to his will, there’s nothing wrong with trying to share the love. Women - the weak ones, anyway - were usually afraid of him because of his size and build. Men, not so much. Their descent is farrrr more entertaining to watch. They would learn soon enough that it isn’t safe. Nowhere is safe. The ice… it can go anywhere.
He watches the stallion lay his weary head against the rough surface of the tree, thinking that he must be a very tired boy, if he could find that comfortable. But there is no rest for the weary and no rest for the wicked, so Belgarath lets his imagination wander. Hmm… he looks to the tree, and freezes a couple of leaves and small twigs, moving out to a greenless stick. Nothing that would really hurt the bedraggled looking fellow, but would probably startle him when the fall. And fall then did, with a crack, and he expanded the water in the tree and broke the frozen pieces off. They fall towards the white and brownish-grayish stallion, and he waits to see what happens next.
Oh. This is fun...