[AW] threnody

[Bexley]

" BEXLEY BRIAR "

The sound the Teryr makes as she splits its joint is horrific and somehow satisfying; it rings in her ears, the unmistakable high pitch of intense pain, one that Bexley knows well, but here is carnally pleased by. A smile entirely teeth splits open her lips. Her heart still hammers with vicious intensity all the way into her throat, but a tingle of complacent excitement offsets it, so that in the moment she spends backing away from it, her brain is pink with happiness, her body newly invigorated, wet adrenaline speeding through those veins, frame buzzing with the happy hum of a thousand bees: she helped her friends. They’re going to kill this fucker. 

Distracted by her elation, she backs up a step too far, exactly into the range of the Teryr’s wings, and it takes only half a second to realize her mistake, as she watches those torn-up pinions swing upward and then back down toward her with stunning force. She can’t move, can’t breathe. A blur of so many muscles coming toward her - a weapon of impending doom she can’t step fast enough away from. Her chest swells with a deep inhale as she steels herself for the impact, muscles locking, legs stiffening, but the hit comes and none of that matters. The breath is crushed out of her lungs; Bexley’s body flies backwards until its slamming halt against an outcropping of rock, so blisteringly intense that she almost folds over it, an uncontainable groan of pain grit out from between her teeth. Stars spiral behind her eyes, winking in and out of a glimmering ache. 

Blinking harshly against the blackness in her eyes, Bexley wriggles her hips, hiccups with relief at the fact that she can still feel her legs, and with a hissing exhale slides her way down the boulder until she hits the ground on all fours. Her limbs protest, but hold. That’s great, but it wasn’t the problem, anyway. What’s really shitty if her right side, pulsating with the insistent movement of blood, and an agony so perfect, so intense, that the resulting bruise, she knows, will be at least purple - probably black. Carmine oozes from a shallow cut across her shoulder. Bexley sneers at it, curls her lip in disgust at her own imminent mortality, and, her lungs still wanting for air, pushes forward toward the thrashing Teryr. 

Maxence is perched on top of the creature, calling for Avdotya. Of fucking course. Avdotya and her stupid spear, Maxence and his stupid… misjudging her. Underestimating her. Bexley throws a sharp glare at the back of Avodtya’s head and curses herself for being stupid enough to come here, stupid enough to still want to fit in, and then - pushing down her one moment of teenagerish venom - continues to lurch forward. As soon as she makes it under the shadow of its wing, Bexley leans onto her back legs and leaps upward as far as she can, trying to rip open the last undamaged section of its wing, determined despite the screaming pain in her side.

love, space