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 Posted: Tue Nov 06, 2018 10:06 pm
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Posted: Wed Nov 07, 2018 8:10 pm
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It was rare that Mercy ever really left the safety of her herdlands. She was a frail thing, far too kindhearted to ever wish harm upon another, regardless of if it were in self-defense or not. For her own best interests, Mercy stayed in the temple devoted to the moon, learning how to be the best priestess she could be under her aunt's guidance. The princess had contented herself to tales of grandeur, overheard from others who frequently left the her'd borders or visitors coming in, though both were rare. There were only so many times she could hear the same story over and over again before she tired of it, no matter how lovely it was.
She had debated leaving the herdlands for a brief time for quite a while, unsure as to whether or not it was really the best idea. She had duties to perform, lessons and traditions to learn, and travelling about would interrupt whatever education she needed in order to take her place among the high-priestesses of the Eclipse Herd. Mercy wasn't leaving for diplomatic reasons as her brother Vanity and sister Koray often did, in fact she had very little to do with the diplomatic realm of their kingdom. Mercy was too soft-spoken, too timid to be in the world of politics. She hid herself in the temple, contented to look at the moon and stars, forever lost in their soft light as she learned of the herd's history and their religious tradition.
Eventually the pull of wanderlust on her heart had been too much, and she had asked her aunt, with every bit of respect and deference she could muster, if she could return to her duties as The Maiden of The Moon when she returned, wanting nothing more than a chance to see the world for herself, and not just through the stories of others. She had, of course, informed her mother and father of her plans as soon as she had been given permission from her aunt, and though there had been a great deal of hesitance in letting the young mare out on her own, they had agreed that it would be a good experience for her.
The first steps outside of the herd's territory had been quite nerve-wracking, her mind anxious and fearful of every unknown sound, every rustle of the bushes as she walked along her unplanned path. It was new, it was exciting, and it was oh-so terrifying all in one amazing bundle. Mercy had never felt anything like it before, and she wanted to savor it for as long as she could.
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It had been several weeks since Mercy had left her home. She had encountered several soquili who had been quite kind to her and pointed her in the right direction as she learned to navigate this new and strange world. It filled her heart with such delight to see others helping those they did not know without want of personal gain. To see such good in the world was truly beautiful.
The mare moved gracefully through the mountainous forest she had found herself in, seemingly drifting through the faint fog that hugged the earth as if she were nothing more than a spirit herself. Her steps were quiet, her ears flickering as she picked up the chirps and chitters of the local fauna. The faint glow of her eyes through the thin haze no doubt would have spooked any who crossed her path, but she was content to see she was by her lonesome, left to the sounds the mountain forest had to offer her.
She had heard from a local soquili that this mountain was home to many natural hot springs. After being explained to what a hot spring was, Mercy had decided to find one and experience its soothing, relaxing nature for herself. It sounded rather pleasant, a spring of crystal clear spring water that was self-heated. Though Mercy was sensitive to the heat and preferred cool climates, the appeal of a relaxing, hot body of water wasn't lost on her.
It wasn't long before the fog seemed to thicken, the air around her growing warmer, steamier. Was she near a hot spring? There was a small thicket of bushes, whose branches were dotted in crimson berries and deep green leaves, blocking her view, but she could see the steam rising over the shrubs and that was enough to spur her on. With restrained excitement, Mercy carefully pushed through the patch of bushes, her eyes gently closing as a few of the branches gently brushed her cheeks, her dainty frame easily slipping between the spaces the brush offered her. Her eyes opened, the blue glow of her eyes gently illuminating the swirling mist around her face, and an ever-soothing smile rested on her face as she was met with one of the most pleasant sights she had ever seen. How wondrous it was; nearly as impeccable as the night sky on a clear winter night.
Her thoughts were quickly brushed away though as she spotted another soquili cleansing himself in the waters. The mare quickly averted her gaze, attempting to return from whence she had came, the shame of intruding on another during something so intimate bringing a hidden rush of heat to her cheeks. "M-My a-apologies," she stammered, hooves quickly backing up as she tried to leave the stallion in peace. "I d-did not intend to i-intrude, forgive me," she offered meekly, her head bowed in an attempt to placate the one she had so rudely barged in on. The mare continued her careful step back, though her embarrassment got the better of her, and she rather ungracefully tripped herself on a rather gnarled root, bringing her to her knees as she tried to catch herself.
The mare closed her eyes tightly, her cheeks burning as if they were on fire. How shameful! Her blue eyes opened carefully to offer the stallion another apology; her words caught in her throat as she finally fully caught sight of the bather and a quick rush of dread filled her. A Skinwalker... Mercy had heard many a warning tale of the ferocious breed known as Skinwalkers. They were filled with rage, blood-lust, and would do harm unto any whose scent they caught. She was done for and her journey had barely even begun.
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Posted: Fri Nov 09, 2018 9:26 pm
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This was, perhaps, his most interesting duel to date.
The winged walker screeched at the white walker below her, glowering down at him with ravenous eyes. She lusted for vengeance against this impudent stallion whose mark would forever mar her face. Blood seeped from the incision running from her cheekbone down across her beak, its taste an unpleasant reminder of her injury. She had underestimated him for some fool with a sword eager for blood as much as any other walker, and was not prepared for the fight that ensued. Most of their kind were savage, crude killers, not anything like the walker before her. He was patient and collected, and his movements were fluid, controlled, and swift, as if they were rehearsed. It felt more like a dance and less of a fight - and he was leading.
Ashura could see that the other walker was equally unsettled and furious, longing to replace the blood he took from her with his own. He could read her intent as clearly as he could see the color of her feathers: she wished for his blood to drip from her talons, soak her feathers, and stain her beak. She would dye his pure white fur a saturated crimson with all the blood he carried if she had could have her way. He flicked a tail with discontent as he imagined the scene. "How disgusting..." he mused out loud, as if he had forgotten about the other walker hovering above.
The audible comment enraged his feathered foe, and a horrid, shrill shriek shattered the silence of the dawn. She dove down, gaze focused on her prey, talons extended to greet his warm flesh. She was flying straight and true, like an arrow on the wind, plunging towards him at an incredible speed, and yet Ashura did not move. He waited until he could see the fury and lust in her eyes and the premature satisfaction in her wicked smile. In that last instant, he stepped out with a forepaw, anchoring his hind paws so that they did not leave the ground. His wide, deep stance forced him to press his belly into the earth, tails tucked neatly beneath him. He held his sword firmly in his jaws, blade extending from out the side of his mouth into the heavens, and braced the hilt with a paw just above his lips.
There was no time for the flying walker to react; her fate was sealed the moment she committed to her killing strike. She did not even have time to scream. Her momentum carried her forward to meet the blade, and she was bisected from chest to gut. Ashura first felt the blood drizzle onto his cheek, and it quickly become a downpour by the time his foe flew past his hindquarters.
He rose after he heard the carcass crash behind him, slowly prowling towards his slain opponent. Many moons had passed since his last victory, and he was pleased with this result; however, the gash across her face reminded him that there was always room for improvement, a lesson he seemed to learn time and time again. He would have preferred to end the battle with his first strike that intended to kill, but he would be content with managing to finish his opponent without sustaining any wounds himself - or so he believed. He could not tell with his fur drenched by the blood of the enemy.
If anyone had the misfortune of observing Ashura at the time, he would see the satisfaction quickly drain from the walker's face. His new mission was to find a suitable place to wash the blood away, preferably before it stained his clothes and matted his fur. "Utterly disgusting," he growled, tearing out a beautiful, sapphire feather from the deceased walker's wing before sauntering off as the sun finally crested over the horizon.
Much to the walker's delight, his duel had taken place near a mountain with plentiful hot springs, his favorite places to bathe. He placed his katana gently upon the ground before the water, delighted with how blood never tarnished the silver blade. He would care for it at the end of his process. He first shifted into his feral form, crawling out of his clothes as a much smaller fox, then dragged his clothes into the water. Afterwards, he shifted back to his stallion form and proceeded to soak the blood out of his garments. He found himself wondering how on earth he would manage to get more clothes if these were ever torn or soiled beyond repair. 'It would have been wise to leave that old seamstress alive,' he growled to himself, perhaps feeling the most amount of regret possible for a walker. No matter. How hard could it be to coerce another good seamstress into making him new garments, should the need arise?
Once he laid his now clean clothes out to dry, he relaxed as the steaming water cleansed his fur. He sighed and closed his eyes, relishing in his glory from the wonderful events of the day. The blood of the other walker only remained on the side of his face, the coppery odor a welcome reminder of his success.
The peace was broken by the sound of cracking twigs and rustling leaves, and Ashura turned his head in the directions of the sounds. He could discern a faint, blue glow through the steam and foliage, which he soon discovered to be the eyes of an ebony mare. His gaze remained steady as he watched the girl stagger backwards and fall after attempting to stammer an apology when she realized her fatal error. His lips twisted into an astonishingly pleasant smirk when she fell silent and her gleaming eyes grew wide with fear. She did not flee, though, instead petrified before him. He waited for a few moments before finally speaking. "Well, don't you look pathetic," he stated, his voice smooth and modulated - an awfully pleasing voice for a walker.
He had seen this reaction before, in those of his village who knew of walkers but had never encountered them for themselves or seen the kind of carnage of which his kind was capable. To them, walkers were fabled demons to frighten children at night. They knew not how malicious walkers truly were, having no understanding that when meeting a walker, even if harm was not immediate, it was sure to come sooner or later, and not always physical harm.
That being said, for some walkers, acts of malice were also based on convenience. As of right now, Ashura had better things to do than maim some foolish mare who happened upon him during his second favorite pastime. He had the instinctual drive to attempt to kill every being that crossed his path beaten out of him a long time ago.
No, he was far more controlled than that, and that made him all the more dangerous.
He chuckled at the mare and turned away from her, continuing his bath - likely much to her surprise, he guessed. "Tell me, girl, what exactly have you heard about skinwalkers?"
► Word Count | 1,186 ◄ |
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Posted: Wed Nov 28, 2018 10:45 am
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Thump! Thump! Thump!
Her heart beat loudly in her ears, rapid, panicked, pounding. It was so loud, so present in her own mind, that Mercy was sure the Skinwalker could have heard it himself despite the distance between them. There had never been any anticipation that such an encounter would have happened on her journey. Skinwalkers were fables, stories told to young foals to get them to behave, used as embellishment in the tales of heroes to make their quests all the more impressive. The young priestess had seen few travelers come her herd bearing the scars and old wounds of a Walker's attack, she had been enraptured by their stories of daring and victory; she had felt the chill run up her spine as they regaled her with the story behind each mark and scar that dotted their hide; a Skinwalker's place was within the stories she had been told, not in the world, not in front of her. Yet there he was, smugly enjoying the hot springs and her folly.
His voice could barely be heard over the own fury of her blood running through her veins, urging her to take a chance to run, to escape; her body refused to heed its pleas. There was something in his voice, something that almost made it seem soothing and kind despite the words he had graced her with. Her cheeks burned as she realized he was right. Here she was, cowering on the ground, unable to move, shocked to silence. Mercy had none of the strength her older siblings seemed to exude. Koray and Vanity were brave, bold, quick-witted, and had silver tongues that could be as kind as they could cruel. They were everything a prince and princess should be, and all that Mercy could hope to embody in the slightest. The youngest of the royal siblings could only yearn for their presence in this moment.
The mare had never missed home more in the past few weeks than she did in this very moment.
The confusion when the white and crimson pelted creature didn't simply lunge for her and go for the kill was palpable. Her ears were pulled back against her head and she regarded the stallion uncertainly. Was she nothing more than a toy, a plaything to placate him for the moment till he decided he was ready to kill her? There was no chance for her to run, she reminded herself. Mercy's legs were still unresponsive, paralyzed with fear. Her mouth felt dry. Silence hung heavy in the air as she weighed her limited options over in her mind. All she could do was entertain him, really; it was the only option that left her alive for even a few moments longer than the rest.
Mercy shifted herself on the ground to get more comfortable, but did little to move much more than that. There was a fear gnawing at her, telling her that if she went too far or moved too quickly, she would easily become his next hunt much sooner than was ideal. Her legs were tucked beneath her body, her fluffy tail curled about her, the blue tip of it resting daintily on her forearm. It was partially for warmth, partially to provide a sense of security. Despite her clumsy beginnings, Mercy looked the image of a proper princess, poised and elegant in her posture with her crown of ice and her mane sitting in a neatly gathered pool beside her on the ground.
There was a sense of relief in the fact that he had turned away from her. The ebony mare's gaze flickered between the ground and the pelted stallion on occasion, but she didn't dare to linger on him for long. Still, she hesitated to speak. For all she knew, this could be nothing more than a trap... but it was all she had to guarantee her life for but a few moments more, even if it was.
"I... I know only stories," she began softly. Her voice carried the hint of uncertainty, and the blue of her eyes glanced up at him, searching, curious, before returning back to the ground. Perhaps it was fear, perhaps it was the instinctual need to provide someone privacy while they were bathing. "I have been graced with tales of heroics and adventure, and those that have told me of Skinwalkers have come bearing scars and marks of their confrontations with them."
The Maiden of the Moon gave a thoughtful pause. She was unsure of how much to say. Perhaps she would annoy him if she spoke too much, if she spoke out of turn, if she bored him with her words. It was best, she decided, to continue. "I have been told that Skinwalkers are vicious and kill simply for the kill." Somehow she was maintaining her formal speech pattern. Had she been in different circumstance, Mercy would have been besides herself in her ability to retain her calm under duress. "I have been told they are dangerous and they are cursed to follow the Spirit that created them; that they are lost and can never be saved."
She hesitated a moment, a thoughtful tone taking to her gentle soprano. "But I have never met one till meeting you, so I could not make my own judgments on the matter. So far, the stories do not seem entirely true." Mercy paused, lifting her eyes, the light of innocence plain for the Skinwalker to see. "Am I wrong for thinking so?"
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Posted: Thu Mar 28, 2019 2:14 am
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As she spoke, a smile formed on the walker's face, one of true contentment. One could easily misread this expression as satisfaction and even amusement with the mare's words, but he could not be more wrong. No, Ashura was only ever delighted with two things: kills and cleanliness, both of which he had the pleasure to experience today and the latter being what pleased him at this moment. 'What a wonderful sight...' he mused, looking down at his pristine, white clothes as they dried on the rocky edge of the spring. The blood had completely washed out of them without a stain in sight.
With a satisfied sigh, he relaxed even more, sinking deeper into the water until naught but his eyes and ears remained above its surface. The last remaining stain from his victim was lifted off the fur on his cheek, finally making him as clean as his clothes and eliminating all possible signs of his true nature from the scrutiny of this perturbed girl. She reminded him more of a foal than of an adult, equally anxious as she was curious. She must have had very little experience with the world and absolutely no experience with danger. She radiated royalty, leading Ashura to believe that she never set foot outside of her palace, doted upon and guarded for every moment of her life. What possessed her to leave such safety was beyond him. This was a rather unfortunate situation for the filly. Perhaps he would have pitied her, had he the capacity to do so.
He allowed her words to linger in the air, as heavy as the mist shrouding them. He lifted himself out of the water and returned his gaze to her as he heard her stir behind him, the remnants of his malice entirely erased from his visage. "If you're so scared, why don't you run?" He knew the answer, of course - he had plenty of experience with Soquili like this one. He could not help but relish in her terror, fully intending to lure her into a false sense of security before unleashing the fullest extent of his cruelty. Surely, this was a fault of the nature of his species, an example of the truth in all of these tales she had been told. Anyone wiser than her would have known better than to entertain him, though he was confident that she would learn that lesson in due time.
"Stories, huh?" he chuckled. "Tell me a story." He wondered if she knew any of the tales about him. He was more than happy to relive a fond memory of his past conquests.
His deep red eyes locked with her gaze, anticipation hanging on his response to her inquiries. "We are," he finally stated, confirming her worst fears about the nature of skinwalkers. "We do. It's in our blood, like many other animals. We are compelled to kill." His words would likely only make her more conflicted, exacerbating her dread while he lazed before her, seemingly uninterested in causing her any harm. He smiled inwardly, imagining her confusion. He was going to drive this poor girl insane, or so he hoped. That would entertain him very much.
"We can never be saved..." he repeated, his eyes falling to his reflection in the stagnant pool. He knew this to be true. He alone was evidence enough. He then turned his head to observe his weapon, a long, silver blade that did not always belong to him, as much a tool as it was a memory. His master, the foolish victim of his pride, did not believe that skinwalkers were beyond redemption. Though he tried to correct Ashura's affliction with the discipline and structure that came with teaching any apprentice the way of the sword. Ultimately, he failed. Not only did he fail, he rigorously trained a deadly beast to be even deadlier.
"Not everyone believes that," he finally stated as his reminiscing ceased, returning his focus back to her. Now that he had given her this information, he being a skinwalker like those about which she had heard so many awful things and therefore her best resource, he pondered what conclusions she would reach for herself. What was the extent of her naïveté? "I don't want to tell you what to think. You're old enough to make your own decisions about those that you meet, right? You're not a child, at least you don't look to be."
Many seasons had passed since Ashura spent this much time speaking with anyone, though it seemed that he had not forgotten how to conduct himself around species other than his own. This did not come as much of a surprise to him, however, as he did spend the majority of his life blending in with the kinder inhabitants of the land. His jaw clenched as he remembered the agonizing control he was forced to exercise, and then the unparalleled satisfaction he received once he finally released his deepest desires that he concealed for so long.
Ashura wanted to confirm his suspicions about this girl's background in order to test his own ability of deduction rather than any true interest in her life. What effects did such a lengthy time without practice have on his social aptitude? "Have you ever made any decisions for yourself, or do others always tell you what to think, how to behave, and what to do?"
► Word Count | 903 ◄ |
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Posted: Tue Aug 06, 2019 9:45 pm
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The ebony mare was unsure if she was in the right to answer all the questions he posed to her. Would that only upset him? Would she draw out his ire if she spoke too much? Or did he wish for her to answer every little thing and punish her swiftly for not doing so? She did not dare to gaze up at him as he left the spring's waters. The sound of water falling from his body as he raised himself above the water's surface. Her ears flickered at the sound and she couldn't help but wonder if the sound of water cascading off of him on to the water's surface seemed louder to her because of the fear that coursed through her veins. Her ears pressed back against her mane as he directed another question towards her and she dared not look up at his form. Hesitantly, she gave her quiet reply, her blue gaze trained on the earth before her. "I... I do not run because I cannot."
At his request for a tale, Mercy tentatively lifted her gaze. She could not help the curiosity that urged her in the corner of her mind. Though the princess was clearly in perilous danger, she could not fight the curiosity that came naturally to her. Mercy wanted to know more, she wanted to know more than what the storied of others told her. The whole point of her venture was to learn more of the world, to see it as all others did, to not simply live through the tales of adventurers that passed through her herd's territory. Her icy blue eyes only conveyed that want within her plainly to the walker before her. It was something Mercy could not hide for she did not know how. Though her siblings were masters of masking their emotions and their true feelings, as was necessary for matter of diplomacy, Mercy had never mastered such skills. She was apprenticed to her aunt, the only other priestess her family had, and Mercy was to take on her aunt's title once the mare stepped down from her position. She had been groomed for rituals and memorized their religious doctrine. She knew so very little of the world outside of her herd.
"I am not very well versed in telling stories," she offered softly. The only stories she knew how to tell were the very ones that filled her herd's doctrine and traditions. Fables of the Sun and the Moon. Would she be able to deliver the stories of walkers she had heard in a way that did them justice? Would she upset the pawed stallion before her if she did not meet his expectations? "I... shall do my best to regale you as they did me." And so she told him of a particular tale that had sent shivers down her spine when she had heard it the first time. An adventurer with scars all across his pelt and patch across his eye had told the maiden of how, exactly, he had lost his eye at the paws of a skinwalker. He had barely come out of the encounter alive, he had told her, and he had been quite thankful to whatever forces were out there for making it so he had. Though she had only heard the story once, she was able to recall the details of if with vivid clarity.
The stallion had taken a job from a herd that had been plagued by walker attacks. They had not been certain if it was the same walker that was hunting their gatherers or not, all they knew were the tell tale signs of something deadly turning their territory into nothing more than a hunting ground for itself. She did not know how many moons ago it had happened, as the scarred stallion could not recount them himself, all she knew was that it had happened when he was younger and far less wise than he was now. The Adventurer believed himself skilled enough to hunt the hunter, and had ventured into the forest to find and slay the walker that had turned the herd into its plaything, picking them off one by one.
Later, the adventurer told her in his story, he realized he had simply become another toy for the creature to play with, but he had earnestly believed that he was more clever and would fare well against the monster.
The first few days had been of him braving the woods to find whatever tracks he could, learn the creature's habits and patterns, and then, once he had gathered all the information he could, he would trick and catch the beast and slay it. The walker had left clues for the adventurer as well, leaving bits of its fur caught in bushes, maiming woodland creatures and leaving them about for the stallion to develop a false sense of understanding and drawing him into a false sense of security. The walker had him believe he had discovered its den, had learned its hunting patterns, but it was nothing more than a ruse. The stallion had hoped to kill it in the evening, at the location he had believed to be the walker's den, but the day of, it was revealed that it had been nothing more than a trap. The walker had struck, getting the jump on him and left the deep scars across his hind flank and ribs. He had attempted to fight back, managing only a few blows on the walkers chest, but they had been enough to free him from the walker's deadly claws and maw. In the attempts to free himself, however, the walker had managed to swipe at his eye, claiming it as a prize for itself.
Adrenaline had been the only thing to save him, and the stallion told her he ran from the walker as fast as he could, warning the herd to abandon their land and find somewhere else, or at least find a place that would offer them succor, and he had kept running till he could no longer. It was only thanks to a passing healer he had been saved, and he had vowed to never involve himself in the affairs of walkers from that moment on.
Even now, being the one to tell the story, Mercy felt a shiver run down her tail. It was chilling tale, and she should have perhaps heeded the tale's lesson, but she did not know how to escape the pawed stallion in the moment. She could not outrun him, she would not be strong enough to fight him off if it came to a physical altercation. All she could do was placate him until he deemed her boring and, hopefully, he would spare her when he was done with her.
The mare froze as his crimson eyes locked on her and her heart sank as he confirmed what everyone had told her of walkers. Did that mean there was no escape from this? Would her journey end here with her blood being spilled on the hot spring's grounds? The thought terrified her. Still, if this was how it was going to end for her, she was grateful for what she had been able to see, even if it hadn't been much. "I see..."
When he turned his gaze away from her, Mercy looked off to the bushes through which she had stumbled earlier, and forlorn, distant look on her features. This was truly a moment of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Hearing that walkers could never be saved was disheartening. She did not entirely believe that, even in this moment she found herself in, though the mare knew better than to voice such an opinion. There was redemption out there for all creatures. Those that were misunderstood and scorned by society deserved to be heard, she believed, and did skinwalkers not also fall under the category of those abandoned by society?
The walker's voice broke Mercy out of her own thoughts and she turned her attention back to him, posed meekly as she gazed back up at him. So there were others like her, it seemed. Her heavy heart seemed to lighten at the news that she was not alone in her thoughts, though that did little to ease the tension that coursed through her. Mercy only gave a nod of her head as he talked. Yes, she was more than capable of making her own judgments. Though her cheeks warmed as he made a rather pointed question as to if she had ever been autonomous and thought for herself.
"Yes, I have." Though she knew that was not entirely true of herself. It was not until recently that she had dared to chose for herself. She had done everything she had been told to growing up. Mercy had not wished to trouble her siblings or her parents by shirking off her duties and had taken to becoming a priestess diligently. The mare did not tell others of her yearning to see the world and did not trouble them with her doubts of herself and her role in her herd. She was not her siblings. Mercy did not consider herself as capable as they were and contented herself to being overlooked by others. There was no commanding presence about her like her brother, and she did not have the confidence of her sister.
Though... there was always a standard to how she was to hold herself and behave before others and she always conducted herself according to the rules that had been taught to and ingrained into her since she had been a filly. The mare ducked her head, eyes falling to the dirt once more, attempting to avoid his piercing gaze. Would he see right through her?
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Posted: Wed Sep 30, 2020 10:48 pm
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She was right: she could not run. Perhaps she meant she was paralyzed with fear, fear that was a product of the futility of her situation. She could not outrun him, and she certainly could not fight him. Furthermore, though she was reasonably intelligent, she could not outwit him. Not for her survival anyway. Her helplessness brought him great amusement.
However, it was not only fear hew saw in her. Despite being void of empathy, Ashura had developed an aptitude for reading others, and he could sense a desire within her. His gaze hardened as he attempted to discern what that desire could be. What could she want from a skinwalker?
He scoffed. "You've heard stories. Recite them." His terse retort betrayed his pleasant façade, a hint that he was not as kind as he seemed.
He listened with interest at first, but soon realized this was not a story of his conquests, but a failed hunt of another skinwalker, one that happened to be one of his many purewalker victims. He heard of the skinwalker terrorizing a herd, as skinwalkers often do. In fact, he may have heard the same story from the same traveler, as this tale is what lead him to the area this skinwalker patrolled.
It was a disappointing venture. This particular skinwalker was crafty, no doubt, but relied too heavily on his tricks. He could not perform well in an actual fight. He attacks were thoughtless, a flurry of fangs and claws without purpose. Ashura was able to kill him with ease. There was not much of a fight: the walker lunged out at him from cover in attempt to blitz the white kitsune, and Ashura countered. That was the end of it. The fact that this other stallion could not manage a fight with this walker told Ashura all he needed to know.
"This guy was a terrible fighter," he stated plainly. "I killed that walker, quickly and easily. If he couldn't hold his own against it..." He did not complete his sentence; he simply laughed.
He watched as she gazed out at the bushes. She was not considering escape, but considering his words. "You don't seem to believe we can't be saved either."
Ashura laughed at her final comment. "Oh, yeah. I'm convinced." Sarcasm coated his words. "What are you doing out here anyway?" It was clear he did not take her seriously, a reflection of how she viewed herself. She did not command presence, and gave him too much control of their interaction. Though, it was not like she could change their power dynamic much. Unfortunately, she was at his mercy, a fact very apparent to the both of them.
Indeed, she was smarter than she looked.
► Word Count | 455 ◄ |
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