—
The general has his answer in her pleased Cheshire smile, wider than the moon’s and prouder than a lion’s.
Oh, if he had his knife he would flay it from her face - or maybe he’d carve it wider, press the point of his blade to the dimple of her cheek, ask her why she smiles. His anger has always been held in a firm grip on a tight leash; it should trouble him, that it’s snapping now. There is something about all this sand, so like and so unlike his homeland, that makes him want to see how much blood it can swallow up.
Of course he doesn’t think it’s her doing (not that all of it is; he was tipping already so close to chaos). Martell does not fully understand the magic here, how common it is in so many veins, a toxin from a poisoned well.
If he knew, maybe he would have rethought before reacting. Or maybe he would have struck all the harder, determined to do more than bring her to her knees.
Her wings enfold him, an embrace that blocks the pre-dawn blush and surrounds him with a darkness filled only with the heady scent of her. For a moment they may have been lovers, locked in intimate embrace; for a moment his horn shivers along the hollow of her throat, his teeth pressed against his lips pressed against her breast-bone.
And then he twists his head (careless of where his horn goes, what resistance it meets or cuts), seizes one of her long flight-feathers in his teeth, and tears.
@Amaunet
Oh, if he had his knife he would flay it from her face - or maybe he’d carve it wider, press the point of his blade to the dimple of her cheek, ask her why she smiles. His anger has always been held in a firm grip on a tight leash; it should trouble him, that it’s snapping now. There is something about all this sand, so like and so unlike his homeland, that makes him want to see how much blood it can swallow up.
Of course he doesn’t think it’s her doing (not that all of it is; he was tipping already so close to chaos). Martell does not fully understand the magic here, how common it is in so many veins, a toxin from a poisoned well.
If he knew, maybe he would have rethought before reacting. Or maybe he would have struck all the harder, determined to do more than bring her to her knees.
Her wings enfold him, an embrace that blocks the pre-dawn blush and surrounds him with a darkness filled only with the heady scent of her. For a moment they may have been lovers, locked in intimate embrace; for a moment his horn shivers along the hollow of her throat, his teeth pressed against his lips pressed against her breast-bone.
And then he twists his head (careless of where his horn goes, what resistance it meets or cuts), seizes one of her long flight-feathers in his teeth, and tears.
@Amaunet
