He thinks it is the gurgling that he will remember most.
She had not wanted to come with him. This was not at all like stealing Sickle, who had fallen so readily into the snare they set around her, Neverwhere would not be swayed with easy words and tricks. She was not a child, and yet she was, with her soul trapped into the body and brain of a six-month-old filly, and she lacked every advantage because of it. When the duplicates split apart to match his own, there were only three of them and the use of the magic darkened their skins with sweat. His mother had loathed magic. It was not a part of her the way it was him, but rather a tool she wielded crudely, clumsily.
Four fillies tried to dash away in different directions and five wingless stallions went after them. Mouthless lunged and missed, of course, but the sun-Gold duplicate swooped in behind, snatching up the girl in its iridescent jaws, golden fangs boring into the duplicate child's neck and holding it firm as it struggled emptily.
The flavor of blood on his tongue brought his attention away. One of them had caught Neverwhere, and Wherewolf wove through the brush to find them. Between two close-grown trees, Tailless was half stuck, its hips jammed against their trunks but its fangs were buried deep in a chocolate-brown haunch, and blood pulsed from the twin punctures beneath its lips. A dozen curses flew from the filly's lips and her eyes were glassy with rage and tears. She tried to summon more duplicates, but they never came, only shimmering half-formed and dissolving away again, and Wherewolf had smirked. What did she think to do with them, he wondered? Mouthless and Gold met them, their prey in tow. Earless came carrying, ironically, a ragged ear torn away from its victim, and Brown brings nothing, the duplicate it had been chasing dissolved when Neverwhere was caught.
Like wolves, they circled 'round her again, and that buried memory surged forward, turning his expression black, furious. The filly spun around to try and attack Tailless, though most of it was protected by the very trees that it was caught between. He would not be able to carry her all the way to the Pampas. Not like this, fighting and biting and shouting.
(In his mind, six versions of his mother stand around him and he writhes in pain, wing dislocated, ribs bruised, broken. She says she'll kill him.) Why hadn't she? Or maybe she did, maybe he could have been like Nash or Yanhua or Cheri. He thinks they would have forgiven a mother who might not have been the best, given the circumstances, but he isn't like any of them. He's bitter and angry and cruel, and the dappled pegasus lunged forward, burying his own fangs into the meat of his mother's neck, shaking and yanking so fiercely that, with Tailless' teeth still buried in her thigh, her fragile child's neck snapped.
The stars winked out immediately. Her duplicates, too, leaving Earless to look both perplexed and a little saddened at the loss of its prize in the brief moment before Wherewolf let go of the magic and they, too, faded to nothing. Only he remained, sneering down at the lifeless body stretched awkwardly out before him, the air in her lungs gurgling softly as it escapes, unwilling to follow her into death.
She is easier to carry, though not too easy because the weight is awkward as he flies, but he is too exhausted to pass the job off to a duplicate that he can't be sure will remain stable the whole trip. Not, he muses, that falling will hurt her very badly now. But just the same, the green-eyed buckskin would rather not risk losing his prize to strangers below and so he does his best to hide the limp body dangling from his teeth as he flies swift and straight back to the Pampas.
There is surprisingly little introspection. He does not feel better for having had his revenge, he does not feel any sort of relief, but he does not feel guilty, either. His mother had deserved it, he knows, and it had been the best choice for returning with her, but he does wonder how long it will take for the resurrection to begin and hopes she will wait at least until he has brought them home.
When the faded late-season flowers of the Brilliant Pampas finally stretch beneath him again, Wherewolf descends near its center, depositing the broken body in a careless heap, and frowns at it angrily. He has no idea what to do with the thing now that he's returned.
She had not wanted to come with him. This was not at all like stealing Sickle, who had fallen so readily into the snare they set around her, Neverwhere would not be swayed with easy words and tricks. She was not a child, and yet she was, with her soul trapped into the body and brain of a six-month-old filly, and she lacked every advantage because of it. When the duplicates split apart to match his own, there were only three of them and the use of the magic darkened their skins with sweat. His mother had loathed magic. It was not a part of her the way it was him, but rather a tool she wielded crudely, clumsily.
Four fillies tried to dash away in different directions and five wingless stallions went after them. Mouthless lunged and missed, of course, but the sun-Gold duplicate swooped in behind, snatching up the girl in its iridescent jaws, golden fangs boring into the duplicate child's neck and holding it firm as it struggled emptily.
The flavor of blood on his tongue brought his attention away. One of them had caught Neverwhere, and Wherewolf wove through the brush to find them. Between two close-grown trees, Tailless was half stuck, its hips jammed against their trunks but its fangs were buried deep in a chocolate-brown haunch, and blood pulsed from the twin punctures beneath its lips. A dozen curses flew from the filly's lips and her eyes were glassy with rage and tears. She tried to summon more duplicates, but they never came, only shimmering half-formed and dissolving away again, and Wherewolf had smirked. What did she think to do with them, he wondered? Mouthless and Gold met them, their prey in tow. Earless came carrying, ironically, a ragged ear torn away from its victim, and Brown brings nothing, the duplicate it had been chasing dissolved when Neverwhere was caught.
Like wolves, they circled 'round her again, and that buried memory surged forward, turning his expression black, furious. The filly spun around to try and attack Tailless, though most of it was protected by the very trees that it was caught between. He would not be able to carry her all the way to the Pampas. Not like this, fighting and biting and shouting.
(In his mind, six versions of his mother stand around him and he writhes in pain, wing dislocated, ribs bruised, broken. She says she'll kill him.) Why hadn't she? Or maybe she did, maybe he could have been like Nash or Yanhua or Cheri. He thinks they would have forgiven a mother who might not have been the best, given the circumstances, but he isn't like any of them. He's bitter and angry and cruel, and the dappled pegasus lunged forward, burying his own fangs into the meat of his mother's neck, shaking and yanking so fiercely that, with Tailless' teeth still buried in her thigh, her fragile child's neck snapped.
The stars winked out immediately. Her duplicates, too, leaving Earless to look both perplexed and a little saddened at the loss of its prize in the brief moment before Wherewolf let go of the magic and they, too, faded to nothing. Only he remained, sneering down at the lifeless body stretched awkwardly out before him, the air in her lungs gurgling softly as it escapes, unwilling to follow her into death.
She is easier to carry, though not too easy because the weight is awkward as he flies, but he is too exhausted to pass the job off to a duplicate that he can't be sure will remain stable the whole trip. Not, he muses, that falling will hurt her very badly now. But just the same, the green-eyed buckskin would rather not risk losing his prize to strangers below and so he does his best to hide the limp body dangling from his teeth as he flies swift and straight back to the Pampas.
There is surprisingly little introspection. He does not feel better for having had his revenge, he does not feel any sort of relief, but he does not feel guilty, either. His mother had deserved it, he knows, and it had been the best choice for returning with her, but he does wonder how long it will take for the resurrection to begin and hopes she will wait at least until he has brought them home.
When the faded late-season flowers of the Brilliant Pampas finally stretch beneath him again, Wherewolf descends near its center, depositing the broken body in a careless heap, and frowns at it angrily. He has no idea what to do with the thing now that he's returned.
@Aela if you're bored
