[P] a beast amongst flowers

[Marisol]

by sword
by salt

When he turns, she is caught a little off guard. The sharp, quick spin, the bright red of his eyes like a predator’s flashing in the dark—her heart shoots upward until it feels like it’s left her body. 

Something about him rubs her the wrong way instantaneously. Like any good soldier, she’s immediately suspicious. Her shoulders tighten: she watches him with grey eyes slightly narrowed and her head pulled up high, a little suspicious—even as she tries to push down her frazzled, split-end nerves, even as her gaze remains steady and her breaths flatten out. Rolling her shoulders, Mari forces her posture to relax as she moves forward.

He smells like Solterra, she realizes, as the space between them closes. Sand, spice, cactus flowers. Mari’s hooves crunch across the dry grass with each slow stride. And he looks like a Solterran, inasmuch as anyone can. A sharp-toothed skull hangs against his shoulder, a collection of teeth is strung from a band around his front leg; the bright, ravenous pink-red eyes are what get her the most, what she keeps coming back to as she stops and looks him over.

The very last thing she notices, though, is how tall he towers over her, a good two hands that might, if it comes down to it, give him an advantage. But he is not as heavily scarred. He can’t fly, nor does he hold a weapon. So with some effort Mari manages to blow out a measured exhale, one that undoes some of the knots in her shoulder, and one side of her mouth curls up into a faint, dry smile.

“I suppose,” she says, voice a little rough from disuse, and blinks up at him with dark, glossy eyes. Slowly her wings fold into her sides; the feather shiver of their own accord like they’re shaking off a horsefly. “I was passing through, but this... distracted me.”

“Speaking.”

credits