do you think God stays in his heaven because he, too, lives in fear of what he has created?
Ghaul enjoys hunting the creatures who are used to being the hunters best. He chews on snakes simply because they lash out and desperately try to sink their fangs into his scales, only to find they are powerless against his armor. They smell like his little treasure girl, the child he snatched from her parents and now keeps safe here in Pangea. But these are weak imitations who wither and die in seconds between his teeth. Still, they are harder to hunt because their heat radiates so very little and he loves the challenge they provide.
He doesn’t even notice his brother trailing along behind him as he watches his target slither over old fish bones and between dried up coral. If Ghaul had eyes to admire the sandstone canyons, he might enjoy this area most of all. The way it twists and bends with the red and yellows accentuating every turn are beautiful in the dying light of the day. But for him, there is only ever the hunt – for meat, for blood, for that unmistakable tremble of death claiming her prize. That is, until he hears the little hooves stepping behind him.
The fledgling freezes, one talon still in midair as a small ear swivels to listen carefully. His smile full of crooked crocodile teeth fades into a snarl as he turns his head. Though he has no eyes with which to stare, it is evident he is watching Darkling as he slowly turns to face his sibling. Ghaul’s wings spread wide in an ancient threat display and he whips his thin tail angrily. An opponent? A friend? Some awful wretch come to take his Gospel from him and back to her awful parents? He snaps his teeth and steps forward.
The shadows do little to deter him as he lowers his head and sniffs curiously at the air. The bright yellow outline of his brother is hardly difficult to distinguish from the pale blue of the sandstone walls behind him.
“I am Ghaul,” he says bluntly, giving his head a little upward nod in hesitant greeting. “You are who?”
He tilts his head and anxiously drags the talons of his left foreleg against the stone, leaving deep claw marks in their wake.
@[Darkling] verdict: maybe not eat? but maybe eat.