The Teryr had swiped along the stallion's left side with its massive winged claws, just before its joints were rendered useless.. and left a nasty slice along his hide that oozed and dripped blood down his white and plum-colored fur. Still, Tor begrudgingly listened to the winged stallion's words, even as he lay perched up on the massive, scar-riddled back of the beast. A stupid spot to be, especially so close to the canyon's edge... wings or not, for they will do you no good should you be knocked unconscious.
It was then he began to question his decision-making.
Cool red eyes regarded the flashy, painted stallion with not contempt, but distrust. He was not someone who had spent long in Solterra (nor held any real loyalties), but he felt a familiar sting of uncertainty. Was he fit to lead this rag-tag band? Would any of the other 'natives' even accept him, despite his noble attempt at defeating this massive creature?
And as if words spoken from a god, for a moment, the massive brute questioned whether the painted stallion would meet his demise at the beak of an ages-old prehistoric bird. For he froze atop its back, his expression going numb in a thousand yard stare.
Torstein had already made his distance between himself and the duo, standing about a wing's length away. He waited for Maxence to make a move - any move, really - or be struck from the Teryr's back.
And struck he was.
The Teryr flung him from atop his saddle, sent him skidding across the canyon towards the edge of the precipice. He stopped mere inches from falling into the void below, his wings all but useless now as they lay crumpled against the sand. And the Teryr - it came at him, shrieking like a banshee on its last legs. It bled, it oozed, it was broken and run down. But it was not dead.
Yet.
Maxence did something that surprised the plum stallion. He wholly expected him to give in, to lay limp and defeated as the Teryr took its revenge... but the painted stallion still had Avdotya's spear, it seemed. And he flung it, into the open jaws of the prehistoric bird, up into its palette and straight into its small brain.
The expression that was written across Torstein's face was of mild, tamed surprise. The beast slumped, blood pouring out of its mouth, along the edge of the canyon. The large lot of them had closed in on this massive beast, so it was not surprising if it died due to all the injuries inflicted upon it. But what Tor did not expect, was for Maxence to be the one to actually topple it.
Steely gaze regarded Maxence, and the stallion nodded. It was about as close to a sign of respect that the painted one would get. He turned away from the crumpled beast, and made his exit into the rest of the canyon's valley.. seeking to tend to his own wounds, or find whatever plant it was that the unknown lady said would 'heal' him. His help was no longer needed here, as the age-old beast lay dead for the vultures to pick its bones clean.
Despite the supposed 'leader's victory, distrust brewed within the massive stallion's belly. Was Maxence a fit leader, or was he merely a flashy window dressing facade, decorated in false accomplishments?
Afterall, his victory was only thanks to a spear that was not even his own.
chest cavity: closed // words: 580 // headshot
[ please tag @Torstein in all replies ]
I have three eyes
TWO TO LOOK ONE TO SEE
