Gale
started under neon lights, then it all got dark
i only know how to go too far
He feels the leather of her wing give beneath his bladed tail and pulls back, slashing rapidly as he does lest the limb become tangled in the pierced dragon-now-wyvern’s wing. He has no time to realize that there’d been no unconscious shifting of his shape to mimic her own, because she is striking him across the face with her right wing. He feels teeth break and spits them out, knowing that by the time they fall to the snow below that they will be whole again in his jaw.
His healing now works in the dream world, it seems.
When she strikes at him like an over-sized snake, Gale ducks to the left, but her sharp teeth meet at his shoulder. The dragon scales are not enough to protection to keep him from snarling in pain at the bite, even as the wound mends itself with pale gold scales.
She is fighting differently, he realizes, in a way that mirrors the way she’d recoiled from his question of enjoyment. He could keep ripping at her, he knows, continue to score her skin with wounds that will not kill her quickly.
But why rush things?
There are other ways to make her suffer, and he is eager to exploit the ability to enjoy hurting Mazikeen again.
“I wish you hadn’t kept me from the angels so long. Killing Ryatah was better than I expected.” As he says the words, he is pleased to feel no uncomfortable twisting in his chest. Perhaps Ciri is suffering somewhere, or perhaps the agony is entirely contained within the heart he’d torn out and locked away for this very reason.
He doesn’t attack again, waiting instead to see how she reacts. How changed is she, he wonders, and what will it take to restore her to something he is certain he knows how to kill? Will she cry? Will she launch herself at him with renewed rage? He hopes the latter, and licks his bloody lips in anticipation.
Perhaps he should dream more often, especially if they all turn out this pleasant.
@Mazikeen
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