OH, TO BE HERE ON THE GROUND
He is too busy with the girls and the hot cake to see the pegasus, at first, but then she is there, speaking, and his ears shift at the sound of a filly’s voice and then his eyes; she is wings. El Toro’s stomach writhes into something venomous on instinct, he can’t help it, they’re always here, always in his space and between his teeth he grits, ”Hardly,” and he is certain it is the most diplomatic thing he has ever said to a pegasus since his red love.
And then there is another one. Black and nearly as tall, they are two sides of a poorly made coin. Well. Toro is the good side. Alabaster and ebony, land-bound and bird-winged. Horns and dark flesh. He takes a bite out of his griddle cake, slowly, mechanically, and the girls drift away without him. He very much wants to leave, spirits gone from high to low in the flip of a hotcake but the fire still burns in him from earlier, only now it has gone blue and frostbitten, like the burn of cold, itching skin. A drop of warm rose honey slips down his chin and blip - it has gone to the ground.
Opal eyes cracked with lightning fire are trained on this black creature. Near nose to nose. Toro is taller. Toro is taller. I am taller.
”Yeah, well, the cold is something.” He takes another bite out of the hotcake though he wants to slam it to the ground. He thinks he might.
@Elif @Caine The Smell of Blood
"What I say,"
What I think,
