09-07-2019, 06:12 PM
Along the bank of the river, he reaches out, testing, pushing his boundaries, drawing them to him. Like his dam, they seek him out willingly because he has convinced them of their love for him. They do not see him as a monster, indeed, even as monsters go, among the horses of Beqanna, he is one of the least. His parts are natural, they function as they should and blend seamlessly.
He is nearly normal.
To them, he is just as he should be, perfect, and it is right to love him. His plaintive call beckons them from their dens to help him, because that is what you do, when you love somebody, you help them.
The rabbit comes slowly. It is often rabbits, he does not know why. Their nature is not a trusting one, and so he cannot fathom why they answer so readily, but they come, and he is glad of it. When it reaches him, the rabbit stands, furred toes pressing firm against the blood-hot skin of of his scaled forelegs, ears forward, whiskers back. Its nose twitches, dark eye bright.
My name is Dreamscar, he would tell it, if he could talk, thank you for coming to help me..
The rabbit does not understand, of course, his gift was never in communication. Perplexed, the rabbit sits down again beside him and begins to wash its face with its paws. For a moment, he watches curiously, amber eyes glittering, and when he reaches his beak out, the rabbit transfers its attentions to him again, licking at the curved bit of horn the way it might one of its own kits. Dreamscar chirrups softly.
The rabbit screams when he strikes.
Unlike his dam, he can never make them accept the pain as part of loving him. He doesn't know what makes the difference, but they scream every time. With a quick pounce, his talons snatch the rabbit, rending flesh, crushing, until they find the spinal cord and sever it at last, ending the panicked crying. Undead but beyond feeling, the rabbit fades away slowly into the night, unaware of the colt's feeding.
For his part, he wants nothing of its meat. It makes him ill to feed on so much, makes him kick and roll and groan. Instead, he tears at the soft fur of its belly, letting blood spill bright against the dull ground, and with a scientific precision, pulls out the innards, swallowing whole the stomach and its partially digested contents. Small hunger sated, the colt returns to his lovestruck dam, leaving the largest portion of the rabbit to the crows that have begun to follow him.
At the edges of the forest where the trees border close to the frothing river, the black mare calls to her blood-splashed son joyfully, but when she trots forward to meet him it is with a limp, and when he falls into her, intent on seeking comfort , as many foals his age will do, through suckling, he finds no milk. Her teats, cut and punctured by her son's beak, are swollen and sore with infection. Hippogryph groans softly as he tries, butting aggressively to encourage the milk to let down, but it is to no avail. She has run dry, and with few teeth to grasp and chew, he must make do a bloodier way.
He is nearly normal.
To them, he is just as he should be, perfect, and it is right to love him. His plaintive call beckons them from their dens to help him, because that is what you do, when you love somebody, you help them.
The rabbit comes slowly. It is often rabbits, he does not know why. Their nature is not a trusting one, and so he cannot fathom why they answer so readily, but they come, and he is glad of it. When it reaches him, the rabbit stands, furred toes pressing firm against the blood-hot skin of of his scaled forelegs, ears forward, whiskers back. Its nose twitches, dark eye bright.
My name is Dreamscar, he would tell it, if he could talk, thank you for coming to help me..
The rabbit does not understand, of course, his gift was never in communication. Perplexed, the rabbit sits down again beside him and begins to wash its face with its paws. For a moment, he watches curiously, amber eyes glittering, and when he reaches his beak out, the rabbit transfers its attentions to him again, licking at the curved bit of horn the way it might one of its own kits. Dreamscar chirrups softly.
The rabbit screams when he strikes.
Unlike his dam, he can never make them accept the pain as part of loving him. He doesn't know what makes the difference, but they scream every time. With a quick pounce, his talons snatch the rabbit, rending flesh, crushing, until they find the spinal cord and sever it at last, ending the panicked crying. Undead but beyond feeling, the rabbit fades away slowly into the night, unaware of the colt's feeding.
For his part, he wants nothing of its meat. It makes him ill to feed on so much, makes him kick and roll and groan. Instead, he tears at the soft fur of its belly, letting blood spill bright against the dull ground, and with a scientific precision, pulls out the innards, swallowing whole the stomach and its partially digested contents. Small hunger sated, the colt returns to his lovestruck dam, leaving the largest portion of the rabbit to the crows that have begun to follow him.
At the edges of the forest where the trees border close to the frothing river, the black mare calls to her blood-splashed son joyfully, but when she trots forward to meet him it is with a limp, and when he falls into her, intent on seeking comfort , as many foals his age will do, through suckling, he finds no milk. Her teats, cut and punctured by her son's beak, are swollen and sore with infection. Hippogryph groans softly as he tries, butting aggressively to encourage the milk to let down, but it is to no avail. She has run dry, and with few teeth to grasp and chew, he must make do a bloodier way.