"It will stop your breath, how cruel I can be."
As the others push forward Veer only pulls back from the lagging elk and watches it collapse into the snow. Around it other elk scatter like mice as the herd starts to turn and flee from the horses nipping at their heels like hunting hounds. He watches them circle and blaze and makes no effort to join them.
He is no dog to nip at the hocks of cows.
Veer shakes the snow and frost from his wings, watching almost too casually as bits of black ink dry and flake away with the ice. His eyes hardly linger on the death shiver of the elk's ribs. He barely tastes the blood on his lips when he licks them just to discover what winter really tastes like. Like iron, he thinks it tastes like metal and copper and sugar.
Somewhere in that channel between them, Najjad rouses from his bed of silk and bones back at the capital and retorts (like a cat, he always needs the last word). You already knew that fool. All the world tastes like blood and metal to you. And because Najjad is not wrong Veer says nothing back as he rises back on his wings and slams his hooves down, crushing the poor elk's head and sparing it any more suffering.
Even cruel creatures can feel pity.
Still he makes no efforts to join the others and their God in chasing the herd out of the desert. He only takes flight, feeling all his wounds for the first time. Drops of blood fall from him like snowflakes as he trails behind the pack and their prey.
As he flies lazily behind them all he cannot help but think that it's a mistake to leave a herd that could kill them in snow and ice alive. Of course, he reminds himself, they could be chasing them towards their death (and that he supposes, would inspire him to join their fray once more). But for now he only watches, a sly smile arcing across his teeth so that he might remind himself not to grimace with pain.
