11-23-2019, 02:16 PM
The dragon's mouth twisted into a jagged grin as the pathetic little creature threw her tricks at him again. He could smell the tang of her fear rolling from the bony frame, delicious. His eyes did not care what shape she took, the heat signature remained the same. A thin little mare, more bone than flesh. Almost to small to be bothered with.
Her illusions drew blood on the skin of the mare she portrayed, but the scent of iron was absent. Another falsehood. His paw tightened around the delicate curve of her throat, a rumble of dark laughter filling the air.
You should have taken my offer, little liar
He could feel her blood throbbing within his grip. It was a strong, pulsing thing, at odds with the weak appearance of the mind bender it fed. He wanted to taste it.
Snake fast, the dragon lunged. The primordial teeth that lined his maw sank into the shoulders of the winged mare, slicing into what little muscle was there with hunger. Her pleading voice had been nothing more than the squeals of a trapped animal to him, serving only to increase the prey drive within. His teeth scraped against bone, salty-warm blood spilling onto his tongue. A little more pressure and the bones would snap as easily as brittle twigs beneath his feet.
To tear her head from the shoulders would be a simple action. A quick, vicious jerking from his current grip while the claws at his feet held the body in place. Easy, so easy. And yet the dragon found he could not make that final motion that would end the life of the creature he held. He snarled, disgusted with the remnants of mercy Santana had ingrained on their shared brain.
There was a jolting movement, but it was not to part the neck from the shoulders, or the wings from their sockets. It was the thrusting of a blood stained form, thrown forcefully away. Blood stained the white of his reptilian snout as the dragon's fiery eyes burned into her where she landed.
Consider this a reprieve, pheasant. Pray we do not meet again
Half word, half rockslide, his speech was brief before the broad wings snapped out. As proud as the blue-tinted mare's own illusionary display had been, his matched it. Better, it was real. Let this not be a sight she would soon forget. He was beautiful and terrible. He was gone. The aftermath lay bleeding in his wake.
@[Eyas]
Her illusions drew blood on the skin of the mare she portrayed, but the scent of iron was absent. Another falsehood. His paw tightened around the delicate curve of her throat, a rumble of dark laughter filling the air.
You should have taken my offer, little liar
He could feel her blood throbbing within his grip. It was a strong, pulsing thing, at odds with the weak appearance of the mind bender it fed. He wanted to taste it.
Snake fast, the dragon lunged. The primordial teeth that lined his maw sank into the shoulders of the winged mare, slicing into what little muscle was there with hunger. Her pleading voice had been nothing more than the squeals of a trapped animal to him, serving only to increase the prey drive within. His teeth scraped against bone, salty-warm blood spilling onto his tongue. A little more pressure and the bones would snap as easily as brittle twigs beneath his feet.
To tear her head from the shoulders would be a simple action. A quick, vicious jerking from his current grip while the claws at his feet held the body in place. Easy, so easy. And yet the dragon found he could not make that final motion that would end the life of the creature he held. He snarled, disgusted with the remnants of mercy Santana had ingrained on their shared brain.
There was a jolting movement, but it was not to part the neck from the shoulders, or the wings from their sockets. It was the thrusting of a blood stained form, thrown forcefully away. Blood stained the white of his reptilian snout as the dragon's fiery eyes burned into her where she landed.
Consider this a reprieve, pheasant. Pray we do not meet again
Half word, half rockslide, his speech was brief before the broad wings snapped out. As proud as the blue-tinted mare's own illusionary display had been, his matched it. Better, it was real. Let this not be a sight she would soon forget. He was beautiful and terrible. He was gone. The aftermath lay bleeding in his wake.
@[Eyas]