The Night Blooming

Timestamp
Day : 27th
Month : Tessera (Autumn)

Year : 81378 (4)
[private] Patajs (Alkia) and Ivumo (Dumu)


Warning : Rated M. Explicit scenes follow, possibly language too. Those who are impartial to high detail and explicit scenes of such nature, we suggest that you don't read it, but do so if you want. Enjoy.

The sky was awash with varying hues of black and blue which had lingered from the peaceful sunset. A still, yet cooling breeze had floated in from the sea. The day had passed neither quickly, nor slowly, rather it had simply passed and was now entering a new one. The moon glowed gently, hanging tranquilly above the forest, stroking the picturesque canopy.

Far below the trees and moon, a restless soul sat at the edge of 'his' lake in deep thought, which seemed to glimmer more when he couldn't think clearly. Ivumo Rauts held both his hands to either side of his forehead, messaging his headache away. Closing his eyes, they pounded in their sockets. A slight twitch ran through his shoulder. He had been sitting there for the best part of 4 hours, thinking. Never before had he spent so much time doing nothing. A steadily developing sensation of odium was ablaze; twisting and coiling in such abhorrence. He was being massacred emotionally; split right down the middle between uselessness and pure rage. It was demanding to be free, then demanding to be locked up for life. Not knowing what to do, he leant on his knees, masking his face with his hands. It took some time, but, for the next few minutes, there was silence in his mind. No incessant throbbing in his ears. No blood pumping through his eyes, causing him to snarl with every pulse. He sighed heavily into the chilling air. Ivumo pushed his massive frame from the huge rock, stretching his neck and back out as he did. He hauled his bag up over his shoulder and fastened the strap through the leathery hole, tying the thick string to hold it in place.

The untainted, luminescent glow above him melted over the clouds, rolled lightly over his eyes, seducing him to stay. Though, as much as he would have liked to give in, Ivumo pulled himself away into the forest, out of sight.

Carelessly he tore the branches down as he struck a path through the thick gathering of trees. His mind was abuzz once more; so many random, yet important thoughts flashing in and out, meaning everything, but meaning nothing.

Ivumo had aimlessly walked back into his home. Nothing more than a small clearing where he had thrown his kit. He had a few papers strewn here and there with all manner of sketches and writings on them; some in Ramathian, others in the normal tongue. Generally, the pictures were discarded. The majority of them showed families of all types - the rich, the poor, the simple people, the caring people and the self centered ones. But there was one he kept particularly close to him; a picture of a young, maybe teenage girl, sitting by a river in the rain. It told him of pain and suffering, but there was some happiness, like someone she cared for or someone who cared for her in silence. It shouted life in a void. There is hope for 'dragons like that.

Although he didn't know her or what she had been through, he could easily relate. Ivumo snapped back to catch himself holding the picture. Setting it down with a tender hand he almost paid some respect to her, wherever she was.

He let his bag ebb from his shoulder to the ground in a dusty heap. The wind unsettled the dirt outside, but never entered. It's how he liked it; secluded and cut off. But it wasn't to remain like that for much longer. For quite some time he had been hearing things about an Academy. The more he heard, the more he longed to be there. To be able to have his own room maybe with someone who didn't shun him nor cower beneath him appealed immensely. What's more, he might actually be able to have some friends. Finally, even his constant reminder on his muzzle couldn't stave him from it. In a couple of days, he would be going to the Janarden Academy.

Briefly, above the deafening, soothing silence, he heard many footsteps running, then they grew faint. He snapped his blood red, empty discs toward the sound, almost tracking them with an invisible sight. When they had all disappeared, squinting out of the side of his eye, he turned away to pack up his bag...

 

Finally, with bag packed to full capacity and slung around shoulders, Ivumo turned to leave. Then he noticed something. It was small, but there. It existed. The silence he had grown to love so much... It was... misplaced. Seemingly careless in its positioning. Rolling crimson discs over the trees in front, a whistling sliced through the sound barrier. He leant forward toward it... Instantly, his bag was snatched from his shoulders; snapped clean off its perch as though it had only been floating above him. His wings shot open instinctively and he bolted from the ground into the branches above him, where he stayed poised for movement.

<span style='color:red'>I'll rip you apart. C'mon. Breathe...</span>

He coaxed under his breath. Then retracting one left bloody talon, and seeing no life near him, he slipped down stealthily to the Jungle floor. Ivumo picked his way back to the bag, wherever it had gone, through the darkest parts of his dwelling. At first, it was reasonable to assume it was on the floor. He checked everywhere, focusing completely downwards, but he couldn't find it. Eventually, he stood up. Directly on his right, just a few inches from his muzzle, a stick of feathers was pinning his bag to a tree. For a moment, he was partially amused to think that this stick had taken his bag, but, in reality, it belonged to someone. And they were aiming for him. Ivumo raised his right hand, plucking the arrow from the bark and retrieving his package.

<span style='color:red'>Damn! Broke my fucking..! Wait 'til I get that ass!"</span>

Growling in a deep, angry bass, the one strap that was left was passed around only one shoulder, which was soon adjusted to stretch across his chest and down around his waist, where it then met back up to the snapped strap. In the middle of his anger, his ears shot up, tuning in to some hidden disturbance. After a bit of confusion, everything else around him was dubbed out. Now, he could hear, although mildly faint, laughter; running; more laughter piercing its way through the early morning. Again they laughed. Every time he heard it, a black mist developed deep inside him. It was rare, no, unheard of for someone to be laughing and running around there. That was the whole reason he chose the spot. Once more a cackling scratched in and around the early morning dew to his ears. With it plus arrow in paw, Ivumo plunged into the ebony fog which cut them off from him.

That black mist swirled in further vehemence, clawing its way along his every nerve, puncturing every vein and injecting its venom. Trees, soil, silky moonlight, the whole world vanished from sight in moments. Ivumo was suspended for the shortest time which lasted forever. His wings opened for a second time as he ran. No worldly limitations seemed to affect him. The unique, nourishing smell of fresh rain hung about the tops of the canopy which brushed his garnet chest. His fiery hair whipped violently behind him. The once calmly flickering rosy tail flame slowly began oozing his trademark haunting red. Ivumo had his goal in mind - to track down that noise. Something in the pits of his stomach reviled that laugh! Now he couldn't forget it! It only made him more determined to silence it.

Whoever was to blame, they laughed again. Just this time, his dad flashed before his eyes momentarily. Eyes widening his face dropped even more into a snarl. He clenched one paw, drawing his own blood to the surface. The scent seduced his senses. His paw rose gently to his muzzle where he kept it briefly, sucking in the relieving textures; thick and smooth; wet but dry; delicious but... sick. He didn't care. Sick was all that was on his mind. Its smell attracted him too. Khajji or tsufrajji? No. You can't pluck this fruit, not like you can a khajji. This fruit isn't like any fruit. This fruit is not for vegetarians. After he was completely intoxicated just by the sheer sight and smell of his blood, he slowly lapped it up, refilling an empty space.

It didn't take long to discover what the entire ruckus was. About 30 yards away a large group of 'dragons had gathered for what looked like a party. There were a number of them closely huddled near bushes and behind boulders. Ivumo slowed to a hover high above them, trying to figure out what was so interesting that so many would have congregated there.

He surveyed the area below. A few meters directly in front of the 'dragons behind the bushes stood three more, just one appeared to be distancing himself from the other two. There was something strange about them as well. One was bent over the other. At that moment, a handful from behind their clandestine concealments leapt out at the couple. More from the other side jumped into the tiny clearing. One or even two more delved down from branches - all heading for the couple in the middle. Still, the distanced one remained where he was.

Unaware of any one thing being processed in his mind, his tongue tenderly caressed a tooth one by one. Then a fang, then another tooth, preparing them for the work soon to be at hand. Semi-visible oculars locked, unblinkingly, on a pendragon still hiding behind the boulder. One massive paw crushed the earth quietly below it; the other to follow in the same manner. Ivumo had virtually no concern whatsoever for the ones who had already run off. He was focused on this small one.

<span style='color:red'>Bite size.</span>

He mused to himself. Yet he had not moved in for a kill. The event unfolding fairly close to him drew his attention for a moment. As soon as he was focused back on his prey, it did again. On this occasion, though, he watched. The 'dragon who had distanced himself began trailing off, leaving the crowd behind. A few of them stood next to the action motionless. In plain view, on the ground, lay a strange looking bow with a corpse inundated in blood nearby. Impulsively, Ivumo let out a furious growl and flew into the air, heading straight for a dark pelted 'dragon near the bow.

In a few seconds he had landed and immediately broke into a bound, straight into his target, goring him clean off the ground with scarlet black talons and partially outstretched arms. Seeing the limp carcass in his paws, he slammed it into the ground. A steadily building pressure started welling beneath his paw - the other he had already wrenched from the cadaver dripping heavily with tar-like liquid. He felt the pressure grow so much, that he allowed some to seep past his fingers, weaving over his fur. Moving one finger it spurted up in a silent spray. Loosening up his hold, the chest heaved in a delightful gurgle, spewing up in a violent, satisfying detonation the thick, maintaining luxury encased within. Feeling the warm, soft spatter, Ivumo plunged his hand in further, seizing hold of something, and prying it out through the gored torso. The body snapped in two.

All around him, 'dragons stood in shock at what he had just done to their comrade. One stood stooped over staring in disbelief at the mass of flesh and internal organs sprawled around Ivumo's feet. The butchered soul on the ground, gradually, excruciatingly, shut one eye, then the other, and, again, gradually, reopened them for the last time, squeezing out his last breath. More blood bubbled out onto the stained, grassy terrain.

Ivumo glanced at a rather horrified, trembling wreck beside him; he reached down, picking up the feeble heart and gestured to him.

<span style='color:red'>Want it?</span>

Ivumo noticed the blade in hand. He snarled yet again with a ferocious yen for revenge. The mere prospect of so nearly being cut down brought him to the very brink of insanity. With all these people present, it only made the choice more difficult. They all seemed as guilty as the next. They all, bar one, brandished weapons of all sorts. A glisten from the blade in that hand set him off again. He whipped sharply to face him, one paw raised, claws drawn. His eyes darted for a moment around the area, spotting a heap on the floor, though he couldn't make them out, but his line was unobstructed. Averting his sight back to the hastily retreating 'dragon; his mind had never left them. It had been toying with a number of ways to proceed with his revenge. Only one seemed to appeal more...

That blade looked nice...

 

Ivumo's heavy frame leisurely stalked closer to the continuously retreating armed 'dragon, who, by this time, was almost nothing but a shell of trepidation. He stumbled backwards frantically trying to push himself away from the shade closing the distance. His fleeing only made for entertaining game. However, it was just he who had thought better of challenging Ivumo.

The bulky, silvery-white pelted pendragons, who had moments ago been on one side of the mass of eviscerated extremities, fearlessly, valiantly, rushed at him from behind, slinging ropes around his arms and over neck. They firmly secured their holds on their ropes by tying it around their wrists a few times, and, leaning against Ivumo, both threatened to pull the beast from his feet. The crowd saw clearly that he couldn't move far, so, deciding he was no longer any threat, made full use of their chance to take cheap shots at him. Clubs and hammers beat his sides, shoulders and legs, daring him to drop down. He refused to yield; his pulling on the ropes caused the bulky 'dragons to slide forward inch by inch. When they pulled harder, he reacted more violently, jerking them off balance. Nevertheless, they were still a fair way from him and had the overall advantage... That is, until his 'going off the edge' looked like a stroll in the park in comparison. From his right came a bronze studded mace, pounding into the back of his skull with a sickening crack. Perpetually incensed, Ivumo's head was low, straining against the ropes. Where he had once been seeking to silence them all, he now wanted to do so much more. His eyes appeared on his right hand assailant, instantly analyzing him. Eyes bleeding sinisterly an invisible discharge. If it weren't for the light showing his eyes indeed open, the bandit's blood wouldn't have curdled.

<span style='color:red'>Iyo'ja mazs...</span>

Ivumo bared his fangs explaining precisely what he meant. First things first was to rid himself of immobility. Glancing over his shoulder they were still there. Both his wings unlatched and unfurled completely from his back in a disciplined concurrency, throwing aside both his restrainers. However, their secure grip hindered their release. Ivumo dropped low, almost flat to the ground; his wings too nearly lay flat either side of him; and pushing hard away he soared into the sky; dangling helplessly by their wrists, they were a fatal distance off the Jungle floor. If they were to happen to fall to their deaths, they would most certainly not feel their spinal column penetrate their skulls and their legs snap as though they were grass through a paper shredder. Then again, if they were to fall upon the trees, they would feel themselves impaled and there they would stay for many hours before dying a most agonizing, brutal death. But, all this was too humane for what he had in mind.

Ivumo turned in mid-air; ducking his head under the rope, all his binds were in front of him. He reached his two angrily convulsing hands down, seizing a hold of the leather around the base of his neck, and yanked as fiercely as he could, hideously disuniting the 'dragon from the elbow. The guttural cries were blocked inadvertently. The limb, attached still to the rope, flew up and around his neck to wrap itself upon his waist, disgorging sordid amounts of fresh... clean blood. He wasn't finished, nor would he be until he was fully satisfied. The panic stricken soul had already begun wildly contorting. His blood spraying across his comrade feet from him. His fur truly dripping uncontrollably. All this to be taken in during a single second.

Now Ivumo's neck was free, he pulled up his attacker to eye level, and glared vindictively into him like the irritation he was. He wasted no time in securing the rope about the screaming pendragon's throat. Talons pierced the top of the spine where they suspended the body, until it was decided to let go. The 'dragon plummeted partially decimated. A second before the rope would reach full tension, Ivumo whipped it up sharply, disembodying them from their skull, which toppled down after, whereas the rest carried on to the ground.

One down. Four to go.

Ivumo turned his sights towards where the other should have been. But, he was met face to face with a drenched and heavily breathing twin. The problem was, he wasn't all too identical. Right at that moment, as Ivumo swung to swat him from his leg, a dagger was drawn and wedged deeply at an angle into his thigh. Prior, he couldn't think of anything they could have done to make him any more mad. Nonetheless, that morning had been full of surprises and this was nothing but consistent with the preceding events. Instinctively he ripped it from his thigh howling in pain, hauled the other up by his right arm - which was holding onto Ivumo's bag strap - and ploughed the blade through his jaw, jamming it between the bones as he twisted the handle. His ears twitched to the sound of the metal being muffled as it grinded along the enamel. Ivumo kept his hand around the handle, which, now, was only half visible. The other's eyes gradually started to close, when he levered the handle upwards, splicing the skin and ejecting the jaw from its position. Ivumo wanted more. He prised the weapon out malignantly whereupon he proceeded to gouge out large chunks of skin.

Like a child though, he became bored with his old toy and sought a new one. That wasn't hard.

His eyes glanced over the clearing, and, to his amazement, the only ones who were moving at all were the ones he flew from a few minutes ago. Everyone else, a good dozen or so, was scattered in all directions. Not one budged. He wasn't thinking logically, but even he couldn't believe he had done that. For one, he hadn't been to those parts of the area. Anyway, it mattered not; he was preoccupied with slightly more pressing issues.

He opened his dark wings further to allow the wind to guide him backwards gently. He aimed to get behind the group below in decent. They had gathered into a circle jostling and taunting one another, impatiently awaiting Ivumo to land. He had traveled back far enough to land without the mob closing in too far. Once he had fully touched down he loosely tucked his wings back into him; his approach was increasingly swift. They swarmed him like a pack of Dekestoses to prey. One on either side of him. He suspected as much. That was why his wings were loose. The gang must have said something to the little 'dragon who he had been stalking before, because he stepped closer to Ivumo smiling stupidly, resting the blade of his sword across his right hand palm. When that vampiric poltergeist was within arms reach, his shoulders and upper back tensed. His wings, once again, shot out in perfect unison, crushing the sternums of those by him. Simultaneously, with his claws already drawn, his clenched hands went from his sides to the 'dragon's gullet and muzzle. When his wings impacted, he forced his claws through the epidermis to the ridged, cartilage surface of his victim's esophagus. The shape of his fingers pressed against the sub-dermal wall. Feeling the cartilage he twisted it out from the wound. Pints squirted past the blockage, lightly spitting out sparkling, invisible, rose tinted beads.

Thankfully, or unfortunately, depending on how you wish to perceive it, the initial idea of the blade ran fresh through his imagination. It was in his hands before they could blink and already weighed for balance. In less than a second he had drawn himself into a prowling position, pounced, landed behind the bigger of the two (blue pelted and feline looking. He couldn't have been more than 17... Inconsequential details never registered long enough for him to rethink his intentions) and, as though a hot knife through butter, rammed the sword down the middle of his back, between the fur and spine, right out his tail bone. Ivumo grinned briefly, but, when he realized the 'dragon had not uttered a sound, his other hand enveloped the base of the handle to slash the coat brutally, awkwardly carving parts of his tail off. Rapidly pulsing lungs were fractionally visible. Ivumo savagely brought the edge crashing down square on the cranium, parting the upper body to the stomach.

Only one to go now... Just then, he heard a quivering, whispering voice behind him, as well as the feverish rustling of cloth. He glared over his shoulder.

<span style='color:white'>Gods forgive me. Forgive me. I beseech you. Grant me a miracle!</span>

He was young. Very young. He had removed his shirt and had laid down all his weapons beside Ivumo's feet haphazardly. He was knelt; his head stooped over shamefully, denying his fate but not really having any choice... Ivumo paused to listen.

<span style='color:white'>E najali py sha reppemd yv yshajt sy leba. E tfyja ulladeumka edmyjumsli. Vyjdeba na. Suca na emsy iyoj lybemd humpt ump thealp na ramaush iyoj femdt.</span>

Ivumo bit his lip once he understood precisely what was said... It made him sick! He pushed the stained weapon into the ground between the two halves of torso and turned back on the nioti with his fist. An ear-splittingly shrill shatter suddenly took dominance over every other audible noise. For a few seconds this stayed. The motionless young teen collapsed back over his legs; his head now facing away. His eyes to remain open from shock.

Seemingly, the Jungle hid from the event. Finally, sound, colour, smell, taste and touch returned to normal, wherein he appreciated the extent of damage had endured. Not just to his leg, but all over. He was bloody and bruised, and maybe even broken. He had lost all feeling in his right ear entirely. It hurt immensely to move it. Wounds on his hands showed the shape of his claws which penetrated deeply. It was just one thing after another. First he doesn't sleep. Then a pack tries to kill him. And he wouldn't say things could only get better. That's what he thought after butchering the black pelted one. Now look at him. Moreover, look at them!

The question about the other participants', whose deaths had nothing to do with him, poked around his mind, teasing his curiosity. He stepped lightly, over the bodies spread far, in the general direction of the center of the field, where there was a more alluring aroma. He stopped to look around at nothing but a massacre. Long, thick, crimson hair swept over his left shoulder as he shook his head at the site. Between a scanning glance, a faint, yet not all too distant, sound of breathing he could hear. Ivumo cringed when his right ear twitched impulsively at it. Indeed the sound was close.

A tad to his left and a few paces in front lay, distanced significantly from all the bloodshed, a rather slender looking figure. It was dark; he couldn't make them out, but they were close enough to make out as definitely slim. Curvilinear even. Anyway, all he knew was that whoever this was, they were alive. After everything that'd happened, someone was still alive. Ivumo got closer to them, noticing that they were nursing their wing asleep. He didn't think about it too much. All he thought he should do was to move them from all this. It's not the most pleasant thing to wake up to. He bent down beside the 'dragon. Their aura; their air; their feeling was calm, or soothing; he found it hard to explain. He slid his hand under their back and lifted them over his shoulder. Ivumo noted from the moment he made contact that this 'dragon was female. Although this was fractionally surprising, his dispatch from the field was laconic.

Cautiously, he put his hand across her lower back to move her wing in. He didn't know what, if at all anything, was wrong with it, but looked that perhaps she was tending to it.

Ivumo's circle of trees denoted his 'home'. Gently, he guided her from his shoulder to the ground where he let her sleep herself out. He pushed the branches out of the way to a welcoming sensation. Nothing inside had been disturbed. Ivumo had almost forgotten about his bag. For the time being, two things were on his priority list:

To deal with his severe wounds and to get his hearing back. There was the obvious matter of the 'dragon outside, however, it didn't take precedence. He unfastened the strap of his bag from his waist and chest to apply a tourniquet around his upper thigh. With any luck, that would work. Ivumo slumped onto the ground in a tired heap, letting his weighty eye lids close like gates over hemorrhaging oculars.

 

On such horrific mornings, the prospect of dreaming was discarded for hellish nightmares. Even though he would expect them the moment he closed his eyes, he had never gotten used to them. Every one was different, but a single element surrounding these fantastically life-like, erroneous, torturous visions from his past and what may yet be, was the air.

When heavy oculars fell shut, from beneath an ocean of purple highlighted, velvety, static waves emerged several pieces of landmasses. At the present moment, there was no detectable light. Emitting its own, haunting, luminosity, the solidifying landmasses converged. Showing no signs of slowing down as the surfaces met, it felt to him as though they carried on through each other, not even acknowledging the fact there was physical presence. Similar to that of shrink wrapping, as the stationary tide below went out, it took with it the excess from the infertile plains, drawing a tight sheet over the many tors.

An immense cloud gathered close to the newly formed terrain, threatening to descend upon the earth with hideous interest. With it was brought the major factors to be played all throughout his unwelcome stay. Tense, thick and clawing, this surreal environment introduced its signature atmosphere, coating itself over and into everything physical; occupying and thriving in everything temporal; existing and dominating in everything virtual.

Splitting the demonic body at its veins, an acidic rush of air spewed violently into the cavernous void from the cloudÂ’s core. The corrosive properties of this translucent fluid diffused into IvumoÂ’s blood stream, as he unexpectedly discovered his corporeal being abandoned atop the highest peak of a mountain, overlooking the entirety of the playing field set out before him.

And that is all it was; a playing field. Still somewhat betwixt by the setup, but pretty sure as to what would happen next, Ivumo spread himself thinly across the apex of his appointed perch; motionlessÂ… He could still feel it. With every passing second it grew in strength. And he knew why. But he didnÂ’t know how to stop it. As his heart pulsed with increasing cadence, so did his curse. At first he hated it - always had. Even when he was a nioti he fought against it. But now it was picking with serrated claws at the barbed cage in which it had been trapped. With each twang of the thin steel, he could feel more and more of the taut cords weaken, and, eventually, snap off, making a larger gap through which demented claws could flex. Ivumo twitched with every mute note plucked. One by one the strings broke. Fighting to subvert the onset of his merciless instincts was a loosing battle, one which was by far in favour of the opposition. The hairs on his back and neck stood tall like sharpened needles. His eyes glazed over, ignoring where he was. Ivumo had not the ability to make decisions. All decisions had been made long before he ever closed his eyes. It was just a matter of letting the sequence of events play themselves out in whatever order they so chose.

The nightmare was nearly finished setting up the pieces. Ivumo knew it was soon before all of them were knocked down.

The acerbic wind whistled its own tune of torment as its toxic vapours condensed all over his frame and shrouded his vision. The Vampiric Poltergeist tried to ignore the noxious fumes which rose up off his muzzle as the acids ate away at him. Blocking out the pain, he knew thereÂ’d be more to come. Every time, something like the air would try to put him off. This time it wouldnÂ’t happenÂ…

A few minutes passed by; all that appeared to be happening was he was being eaten alive. His inner blood lust seemed to be relaxing. In fact it had ceased altogether. Having contemplated moving and possible side effects, Ivumo pushed himself up.

In the same instance, the artificial ambience was swept aside, for now the nightmare would begin.

Feeling it in the pit of his stomach, ears stood tall, listening for anything and everything behind him, whilst his eyes stayed pinned to everything in front of him. The speed at which his surroundings changed wasn't fast, nor was it slow, but quickly enough for him to be caught off guard. Empty discs darted around, trying to pick out the shapes of the moulded hills, ditches, crevices and caves. In the time it had taken him to get a firm grounding, all about him had had another layer plastered over the top. A black silk-like film seeped out from within the pores of the purple terrain. Each lump and bump highlighted with an all too familiar colour. Further out, every hill was black... the closer in they got, the red highlighting became more visible... Crimson oculars froze at an unpredicted feeling. Marrow liquefying chills traced up his spine; the hairs on the nape of his neck stood taller... His very being was in danger again. This time, he feared it.

A warm air smothered one part of the right hand side of his muzzle. It came again. And again, warmer this time. Paralysed in place, he dared not to see where it was coming from, but he didn't need to. The source made itself known. His ears twitched at a sound with which he was more than inured. He had done it so many times himself, it was engrained on his mind. Claws scraped against each other. The warm air was getting warmer, and louder. A short sharp sniff; Ivumo's eyes locked on.

Reflecting Ivumo’s distorted appearance, incensed bottomless pits, encircled by the countless number of victims’ blood, perforated The Vampiric Poltergeist’s inert presence. Staring vacantly into them, a white noise began to build up in his tall ears. The penny dropped. In it doing so, Ivumo’s instincts returned once again, tearing and biting and hammering on the weakened cage, vying to take a piece out of this beast poised in front of him. However, before any real action could be taken, a large paw sought out Ivumo’s neck. His stomach lurched with consternation and fervour. Is this what he needed? A real challenge? Something which wasn’t even in the remotest bit frightened of him – eager to see into how many bits he could be agonizingly diced? In the midst of this obscure excitement, it was failed to note this beast’s arm raise, convulsing with sheer revulsion. In the time it takes to blink, Ivumo finally realised up against whom he will be going. The fur was suffused so deeply with an oily fluid that it appeared to adhere like a sub-dermal parasite to a host. Deep cut wounds populated the whole length of the muscular limb extended to Ivumo’s throat; an infected blend of blood and puss congested between the needle-like hairs.

Feeling the uncontrollable twang of that battered cage’s deformed and distorted bars, one corner of Ivumo’s muzzle turned up into a short sharp snarl. Burgundy tale flame burst into an inky bloody colour. Fading from a dulled red colour, the outer rim of oculars swirled with a rich scarlet. Not pausing to think, talons tore across the forearm of this nightmare ‘dragon, rupturing dormant pockets of clotted blood and puss. Unaffected, the grip tightened.

<span style='color:red'>It has only begun, Ivumo.</span>

He knew more about hunting and killing for the feed than Ivumo could ever know. But the fact his father pushed him too far was the cause of brutal cleaving on the eve of IvumoÂ’s 16th Birthday. He had disowned him, ashamed the vampire was a throw back, and should have been smothered at birth. Flashing in his fatherÂ’s rancorous eyes was every attack he could possibly come up with for his son, nearly killing him on every occasion; Ivumo only grew stronger. In seeing these, his lungs filled with an air he had not tasted since slaughtering his father; impure; tainted; toxicÂ… an addiction unlike any other.

<span style='color:red'>Where is it?</span>

He snapped into a million pieces. Paws slashed at the arm, driving claws deep under the fur and peeling it back, smacking hanging chunks off as his paws passed below the arm after each attack. A sick grin spread itself across his dadÂ’s maw, encouraging Ivumo to try harder, and harder. Clawing at whatever was left, he sunk razor sharp talons into the elbow joint. In making a fist, the arm jutted out to IvumoÂ’s right. His dadÂ’s expression never changed. That sick grin was the same he had when he broke open his sonÂ’s skull at the age of 6, straddling him, watching him pass out as the wound permitted greater amounts of blood to flow. Still, the Vampiric Poltergeist wasnÂ’t going to ease up through fear. If he had the ability to murder his father at 15, he was far more than capable of doing it now, even if this was a fabrication of reality.

In no time the limb had been reduced to an incongruous mass. Heaving heavily, IvumoÂ’s claws tingled with pain from grinding against all the bone. He held one paw in the other. A deep, garrotted laugh spliced the still air. The grip about IvumoÂ’s throat loosened, dropping him to the floor. He didnÂ’t have any recollection of being lifted. Pushing himself back along the floor, he needed to get some good distance before trying anything else.

<span style='color:red'>You have forgotten an important lesson, nioti. Let me refresh your memory: ‘Hunting Retreating Prey’.</span>

His final word trailed off. The wings unfolded from his back. At first, they appeared healthy, strong and sturdy, like a young ‘dragon’s wings. However, the fur on the right one simply fell to the ground, revealing half a wing – cracked and broken all over - from when Ivumo jumped from the tree. The left one was torn and shredded - from when he tried to shield himself from his son’s unrelenting attacks with claws, fists and fangs. Puncture marks were prolific all over the wing.

The crimson pendragon paused in place. This apparition, resembling his father, stooped low to the ground, then instantly kicked himself into the air. The speed at which this was done caused Ivumo to lose track. Never before had he lost prey accidentally. Even his tall ears had no clue as to the other’s whereabouts. Discs scanned the “sky" eagerly. He needed to find him. He needed to at least have some idea as to where he was headed, and from which direction he would attack. Ivumo was out in the open. From there, he could be attacked from any angle. His father was one of the best hunters around. Ivumo had never been “prey" as such, just the insult to the family. Continuously surveying everything directly upwards; it was as if he’d vanished. For the umpteenth time, Ivumo attempted to swallow his covetousness for blood, only to succumb for the final time that night.

All Hell broke loose deep within the diaphanous matrices which formed the co-symbiosis between pendragon and vampire.

Fur froze like spines on a Spirax. Ducking his tilted head level with his hunched shoulders, and glaring over his right, he uncoiled sharply, snapping his whole body around to grip both bony, bloodied wrists of his would-be head-hunter. Impulsively sinking his talons into the “flesh", he quickly remembered that it had all been removed earlier. Taking both bare wrists in one giant paw, Ivumo turned to one side and leant down, bracing himself with the other paw. Pulling that undead beast with him, he brought it close, before releasing what he had grown to learn to be his most powerful medium range weapon. Sequentially, the individual muscles tensed in his arm to lock him in place. Mechanically, electrical signals amassed below Ivumo’s shoulders. In only the moment it takes to think about it, the hammer-like joint of his left wing burst through the chest.

Several seconds of silence fell upon the scene as shards of highly degraded marrow filled the air behind his dad. Ricocheting off the ground, peripheral vision watched as the velocity of beige tinted fragments reduced to zero. Rotating about central axis and off centred pivots, a dull shade of grey appeared to pollute the biological ‘flotsam and jetsam’. Dispersing across the lengths and widths of each piece, they all soon received a glossy coating, before falling to the ground – similarly to that of lead.

What was it about pain that was so interesting – so… thrilling? Even when they were dead, he found pleasure in further dismembering corpses. They weren’t going to feel anything. They weren’t going to respond, or react. They just… flopped about. It was a kind of habit. Nonetheless, his focus never wavered. Scrutinizing the facial expressions; movement of the eyes; paroxysms of upper body muscles, waiting for a discernible emotion which would lead to the retaliation. Yet, by now, he should have known better than to expect things to be so simple. A quick analysis of a ‘dragon in real life could tell you a load about them. In waiting, that window of opportunity shattered; that upper-hand returned to its pocket; that special edge just turned into a sphere.

Ivumo was fluffedÂ…

Feeling an enormous weight develop along the span of his wing, it forced him to drop to the ground. It was like some martial arts technique used to immobilise an attacker bearing a weapon – any resistance against the move resulted in potentially terminal pain. A malevolent contortion of one late, psycho-delusional vampdragon’s maw indicated a perverted sense of satisfaction.

The wing was to remain lodged in the torso no longer. Stepping forward and through to his right, the pressure on the wingÂ’s joint at the shoulder blade grew to be too much. Cracking as tendons tore from place, and muscle tissue frayed, and young bone splintered, the wing uncompromisingly ripped from its socket. An engorgement marked where the bone would exit, severing the skin and pulling through the fur, accompanied by a multitude of a closely intertwined network of tendons, veins, arteries and capillaries strewn over the extra limb Some even refused to fully disassociate from the bloody lesion, preferring to cling to the fur and remain attached at their roots.

The limp appendage was taken into custody, only to be pulled through the apparently inconsequential wound, taken in both paws, and swung to strike the side of IvumoÂ’s head. Feeling his ear throb, instantly acquiescing hearing, his frame followed the path of the attack, falling the foot he had managed to gain since being forced to the ground.

Just as his eyes began to shut, he feared the end of his lifeÂ… life? What was life? What is life? Life is the spiritual pickle preserving the body from decay. We live in daily apprehension of its loss; yet, when lost, it is not missed.

Knowing he could not bring himself to stand and fight any longer, he awaited one of two things, which, strangely funny, seemed to be one in the same. Either time would take him to descend into the Hell he had created for others, or his dad would finish the job. Throughout all of this, a noise like an orchestra gone wild emphasized the most intense moments. Now, like the entire orchestra had been massacred in one feel swoop, nothing.

Fading discs, with lids half shut, stared along the surface of the terrain. Dreamily, he watched as giant paws approached his battered body. His dad made his own way to stand in front of Ivumo. Bending down to see the reaction in his sonÂ’s eyes, his dad hung his head in shame, then, looking back up at Ivumo, shook it.

It was then, as the Vampiric Poltergeist forced himself to look up, that he saw the dark playing field – spattered with blood and flesh – fade to blackness. Being the last thing to change, everything but the spectre’s eyes faded as the surroundings did. A portion of the eyes decreased in size. The rich scarlet, floating like oil in water around the outer discs, faded through each spectrum until reaching a glowing shade of amber, steadily growing in brightness.

Ivumo slowly adjusted to the low light levels; returning at the same rate was his ability to depict minor details, including the faint features surrounding tawny oculars. Why're they...? The word "staring" got cut off once it dawned upon him. He hadn't quite fully adjusted yet. Nonetheless, permanently blood-stained maw sharply twisted into a low, rumbling, guttural growl; moist tail whipping once off to his side; sore paws clenching the dew-damp soill; claws digging deep, obtaining a strong grounding. The moment he could sense everything around him would be the moment he would cut down the last of the bandits. He glared coldly at amber eyes, waiting very impatiently for the slightest motion to attack...

 

So much for a comfy slumber; it didn’t take a machina genius to realize the female he’d brought back was now snarling barely a few inches away. Were these ‘dragons genetically challenged? Was it some mass inbreeding program spawning these addle-brained schlemiels? They must have been coming from somewhere; two things were for sure: vast numbers had found their misguided, highfalutin ways to him that night, and his ability to attack was severely impeded with all the cuts, grazes and gashes he’d received from the gang of dye-faced bandits. It was a physical beating beneath a mental torture.

First things first, instincts kicked in. His opening snarling initiated purely from having too interested a person near him. But as more of his nightmare faded to leave behind the finely defined contours of the trees and bladed purple undergrowth, the true sense of the matter flashed through his previously distracted mind. The deepest gnarring swiftly erupted and consumed the – now seemingly – pitiful excuse for a defensive rumble, replying to Patajs’ barking instruction. The stained fur on the bridge of his muzzle piled up in two separate sections, both with distinct, thick bulges, when his brow sank to hood half his crimson oculi. He may not have been able to move as quickly as per normal with his whole body, but at this distance, he could bolt forward the miniscule gap between the tip of his nose and hers and riddle the long white fur with the large fangs becoming more and more visible, almost appearing to slowly jut down from his upper jaw, as if kept in holsters and mechanically released.

The thought was rich with the scent of even more blood. It wasn’t a nectareous texture or even flavour, but something about it was like a horny virgin in the company of a rapist – it kept screaming out, ‘Take me!’. In that situation, who could resist?

<span style='color:gray'> “Did you bring me here? Where the hell am I?"</span>

His hungry growl accented in a sharp explosion, pushing his teeth apart. Had this been followed up by a forward lunging movement, it would have been his death-seeking attack.

<span style='color:red'>"In my face. Sit back if you value yours."</span>

A small, nagging feeling told him not to snap – both his temper and her muzzle from her small, white cranium.

<span style='color:red'>Â’Why isnÂ’t her face the same as the othersÂ’?'</span>

 

<span style='color:red'>"I donÂ’t care what you want!"</span>

With a vituperative snap of his jaws and a now violently whipping wolf-like tail - bearing his roaring, velvet blood-black flame – Ivumo was flooded yet again with ideas about killing someone. He hadn’t yet exhausted the ways to do away with someone. Notably, the difference between this spunky, bombastic wretch and some others he’d maimed was that others laughed at him, failing to take heed of his bloody spherical oculi mining the very fabric which made up the putty substance cajoling and taunting him into a fit of rage – which, ironically, usually ceased with a muffled, limp, wheezing croak. Its value as a “difference" was so inconsequential it entertained itself for a matter of moments, and then purged itself.

A life is a life, encased behind soft white gelatin. Some behind blue. Some behind green. Some behind orange. Some behind amber. One thing they all had in common was that they all bleed red when pierced by his talon-like claws, or reduced to a stain on the floor when stomped upon as its distant owner stumbles and fumbles, tripping over the flat, unobtrusive ground as they make some kind of route out of the field to be their grave. Sometimes it was even more funny to watch if both eyes were popped, oozing puss and blood. Even more entertaining than that if the eyes remained in their skulls. And in their skull did they sit in this white female.

Â… Who had obeyed himÂ….

His mind returned to the inescapable fact of the matter. He told her to sit back, and she did – quite reluctantly, but there you go. Now what? It wasn’t like she was looking to cut his throat out, or so he thought. It made a refreshing, yet unpleasant change. In the development of this revelation came the sharp twang of torn tissue in his leg. Releasing a loud shout at the pain, Ivumo’s pointed ears flopped back against his neck – a position they hardly ever took. His head hang low instantly, cursing under his heated breath at those he’d just killed, as if dismembering, mutilating and beating the living tard chips out of them wasn’t enough. No, let’s call their still bodies everything under the three moons and sun why don’t we? Naturally, Ivumo’s entire body tensed further to compensate for the pain, which only resulted in more places to hurt immensely. A catch 22, if you will. This vicious circle left Ivumo looking decidedly vulnerable to anyone he hadn’t deprived of their peepers. His tail appeared to go into some kind of shock, sitting still and rigid – almost electrocuted. The bag strap on his leg acting as the tourniquet was resting near breaking point, gracefully held together by that little clasp, daring to ping off in some unpredictable direction.

Thoughts of Patajs grew along the vain she may indeed take this fortunate opportunity to claim his life. Or worseÂ…. Leave a mark by which he would be humiliated for the rest of his life. Another mark by which he could be reminded of his sinister, regretted nature.

 

His large, pointed teeth interlocked forcefully, creating a strong, impenetrable enamel wall. Although the force applied to his maw was strong enough to cease it from reopening until Patajs had decided otherwise, Ivumo bit down even harder; the muscles at the back of his lower jaw tensed, making that bulge grow either side of his face – clearly showing his anger. If he couldn’t bring his jaws to clamp around her pitiful wrist, then his temperament would be vented in other ways.

One could say she caught his attention, but in such a circumstance, who could really refuse surrender of one’s concentration? At least she hadn’t let him down – she took her chance to capitalize on his severe pain. If there was any game being played, it was one of superiority… a game he always won. Notwithstanding this, winning wasn’t too easy an obtainable option now.

<span style='color:red'>Broken wing? Great, so she wonÂ’t need itÂ…</span>

As if a voice over, IvumoÂ’s mind overlapped PatajsÂ’ scorning. Ivumo did know of a handful of ways to get out of Vivuli, but it was going to take a bit more than a simple, single act of aggression to convince him to share the details. His paws were digging deep into the soil as her claws dug into his muzzle. She mustnÂ’t have dug deeply enough, because it hadnÂ’t even trickled out upon initial penetration. Obscurely, the nodding is what irked Ivumo all the more. Had he been at peek efficiency, it would be to a completely different rhythm he nodded, rather than the harsh melody of her voice. So piercing and shrill, yet so easily rectified.

So now there were choices. Either conform to PatajsÂ’ ways instead of the Poltergeist himself dictating the odds, or resist, fight back and essentially be a royal pain in the ass.

Or a mixture of both.

A sly grin replaced the clenched teeth a few seconds after she had let go. His mind was winding down. Ivumo may look like the heartless killer – and he was, somewhat, when he needed to be – but he was born with more than his fair share of brains switched on.

<span style='color:red'>"You want out of this hellhole?"</span>

His crimson oculi rolled back to stare at the inky, still sky. A zest crowning the midnight gust whispered a salty wish to the leaning plants all around, and, in acknowledgement, they bowed. All things but trees and dirt bowed. A distant scamper signalled the earliest part of the morning and instinctive foraging soon followed. Despite the global rotation and suppos'd natural call for wild animals to go about their ways as they did any other pui, aside from that first scampering, there was little more to note.

Ivumo's earlier anecdotal idea of Patajs' claws having not dug deep enough spat in his face. Or, spat from his face. Only one or two droplets, but those one or two had acted as the cork for a hairline stream from each new pore she'd made on him. A numb pain welled up in his gums of his upper jaw, though insufficient to cause nearly enough pain straight off the bat to cause him to announce it. After all, he wouldn't want to be "bitch" anymore, now would he?

Therefore, a quick reconsideration ran through his mind and the answer he had for her on the tip of his tongue vanished, like swallowing a bite size piece of meat whole. No trace.

IvumoÂ’s posture vaulted forward. His left paw seized PatajsÂ’ mid section, and at the same time as he touched her white fur, blood black talons slid from his digits, poking into her skin, leaving pinkish marks on her abdominal pelt. One push; one twist; one wrench. ItÂ’d be her insides all over the floor in a sinewy, shimmering, mass of bleeding tissue and earlier consumed foods.

<span style='color:red'>"I – am – Ivumo."</span>

His right eyebrow rose and fell sharply, daring her to challenge his strength.

 

Patajs had surely proven herself to be an undeniable ignis fatuus, unerringly inculcating her impregnable disposition upon Ivumo; Patajs' carnal caramels expectorated a taut incalescence, chiefly resembling having the zestful debris from an erupting hot spring hesitantly raining during the Tessera season. This over zealous lass was likened to the debris: So many others just like her flying around or (like Patajs) already fallen in oil. Until then, however, this new... feeling... it was like staring up, expectantly, into the sky letting the warm air strangle your lungs, staring up to the silvery sun, slowly allowing the spherical, silvery glare to slide down into your vision from its heavenly locus; the water drops would already be there, up in the air, eclipsed by the sun's addictive, meretricious blaze, as if plotting the decent within their new constant blanket. And where else should the timid shard fall but in your eye, just as this thill had done, despite her grotesquely pulchritude features.

Ivumo's taloned digits vellicated against the welcoming flesh they had found themselves - more out of duty than desire... or was it the other way around? That would have initiated an arduous kill; she was hardly any game, despite her fiery attitude. The twitch was triggered by the muscle spasms in Patajs' stomach - her action to lean nearer. He was so close to ending her and whatever legacy hung over her shoulders like sacrosanct, velvety robes. So close it made the Vampiric Poltergeist breathe harder through pearly fangs, which were residing quite proudly now either side of his muzzle in a sort of "come hither" guileful elegance. It was like a sensation that ripped and tore through his tightening muscles, clawing up the back of a climatic, corrosive explosion of bloody lust, melting away - with much displeasure - in seconds to call an end. But still, Ivumo's violently whirling mind kept distracting itself until he himself had been set upon.

Her pressure... Soft enough to cut. Her tenderness... supple enough to render dry. In all this world, in all the things Ivumo had done, thought about and seen, felt, or experienced in his nightmares, everything he knew was so plain and simple to him. A kill is a kill is a kill. There were steps to take, but it was crystal clear.

So what the hell happened to simplicity and continuity?

If there was a parallel to be drawn, then it would certainly have eluded him. It was apparent Ivumo lost his nerve - his ever lasting nerve to take life like a scavenger would take fruit from an overly successful tree - to twist the tightly woven nervous system out through her firm body... Her lips though... Ivumo's heart freaked out; his eyes froze, stuck in place, stuck in a realm of surreal disbelief, ensnared within the the tangled tawny web of those orbs barely a few inches away. Her hand wasn't registered below his maw until now, too late. Her deed was virtually half done before Ivumo's over-active mind was able to wind down for a split second. In ever decreasing spirals, like a coin on a varnished surface, the violent intentions ground to a halt, scratching the surface down to its bare, woody, coarse roots.

Peppering the shock - manifesting itself in Ivumo's already beaten muscles - were more words, ones that came to herald the realization of the burning laceration deep in his leg; the impetuosity was so great that Patajs' jerk caused the eroded brass edge of the buckle to - not only farm a much deeper gash in the existing wound - wedge one corner into the fleshy tissue. In a most uncharacteristic display of 'mild pain', the Poltergeist's right eye flickered open and shut, leaning forward and down into the direction of his injured leg. As a vampire, this pain wouldn't last long, but Gods damned! Either she was blind, stupid, or drew pleasure from being smacked around; thill (feisty thill) or not, Ivumo'd reached the end of his tether.

<font color="red">"... Fuck."</font color>

An abrupt utterance through even more tightly gritted teeth. Retracting his claws from Patajs' stomach, the strap was snapped ruggedly off. If he was going to bleed, he was going to bleed. Like lead. Black and red lead. Venal bleeding wasn't the prettiest, but some would prefer it. His leg slowly grew a second, tacky coating as it oozed down his musculature sluggishly, like if one had painted too much on to a wall. A sudden explosion from his uninjured leg jutted his upper body forward up into a tall crouching position, connecting his thickly matted forehead against her's.

Stock wasn't taken. Reaching his arm out to his bag, the wing'd giant tore from his bag the arrow - comparatively minuscule while held in his paw - and swung back around, holding the head firmly against Patajs' throat.

<font color="red">Kill her! ...What're you waiting for?! Press it in to that gelatine for skin and twist out her screechy vocal chords!</font color>

<font color="red">I'm sick of this. I'm going to give ONE chance to open your tall ears and shut your mouth. This time, speak? And chew this thing!</font color>

Ivumo jabbed the point against Patajs' oesophagus. In a low, authoritative, declaring resonance, the last words from his mouth were annunciated with an unusual clarity.

<font color="red">Get out of my range.</font color>

In closing his maw, Ivumo's unrelenting right paw flung around from behind his back, seeking to either cleave her head from her shoulders, or slap her down. It was going to hit though. What damage it did would be up to how soft her head was.

<font color="red">If it's anywhere near as soft as her ability to keep her legs closed...</font color>

His final thought.

 

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<table class='ooc'><tr><td>K, I'm 9 hours and 25 minutes late than I'd said this'd be done x) DONE!</td></tr></table>


She was making this more difficult than it needed to be. She could have spoken and ended it all, or she could have walked away – and ended it all. This was by far the most peaceful act of violence to which Ivumo had ever committed himself. Understandably, he wasn’t really in the mood to deal with anyone else.

The thought of using her skin as a cape was kind of snazzy though.

Despite his intense manner and size, he was far from a bumbling fool. IvumoÂ’s paw froze inches past his target area. PatajsÂ’ hand hit it moments earlier and she was no longer in front of him. This impact snapped him to attention once more. Even before his paw had reached its destination, hooded eyes were trained on her thin white frame, or rather her gesticulation.

The spine of the arrow was deftly manipulated between his fingers. With a tap, it spun 360 in the palm of his hand then ceased it again like a pen. In two swift unruffled movements, he brought the arrow back and jerked it forward again. He projected it forward aided with a flick of his fingers to get it on its way with an added spin.

Whispering screams surrounded the head as if the air was in pain. It slit the atmosphere between he and Patajs in two. It whistled past her finger within millimetres of taking it clean off, imbedding itself in another tree behind her.

On the upside, the longer she stayed away the faster he would heal.

He furrowed his brow at her as if to say, “Do I look like I care?" He wouldn’t sleep this time, in case she was to capitalize on his immobility. This time, he focused on healing the wound she’d opened. Bitch.
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Ivumo's blood red discs inherently rolled counter-clockwise, following a shallow line down to the bag strap. Well, it had been worth a go. Unfurling fingers hovered above the fraction of the bronze edge protruding from his softened flesh, contemplating leaving the metal implanted for the time being. The downside would be one of two things: his system would either dissolve a portion of the buckle into his blood stream and heal around it, or he would simply heal around it. When it came to extracting it, the former would be less irritating. His brow furrowed considering the choices, aided by moistening his drying lips. The diluted, gritty blood was salty however – a bitter sweet combination. It did little towards rehydrating his lips.

Ivumo's finger tips gingerly caught below the plain bronze edge and sharply flicked upwards. It was worse than it felt. There was no pain. Good, that area was in shock.

Patajs' lurid, pale body shuffled out from view, but never out of ear shot. He'd seen her toying with the arrow, inspecting the shaft, the head too, in a way you could expect Ivumo to search through his bag of things, or a young lass to route around her purse for essentials, or an Arden to find that little something in his wardrobe no one knew he had that set him apart. She seemed more than acquainted with it, but less than worried it existed as she rammed it firmly back into the crisp, dewy bark of the sjaa.

Ivumo's thumb rubbed against his index finger gently and allowed his other fingers to curl up again, like half a fist, or going to raise a thumbs up. The motion reversed itself; it was a motion of uncertainty. He was more than mindful of the fact he'd heal. But was he about to cause himself unnecessary harm? His index finger pressed against the warm metal, supported on the other side by his thumb. His hand arched; a fleshy squeak signalled Ivumo's eyes to open again.

Leathery straps slid away from each-other, inundated in rancid, tacky lymphatic fluids – hot to the touch and cold when it wept from the material. The pressure release was no more than a mauvais quart d'heure – a short, unpleasant experience. Removing the straps was like opening flood gates. Heated energy squirted into him. He could feel it. He enjoyed it. Ivumo's hunched frame straightened and stretched against the trunk of the tree. His maw rose to the sky and took a deep drag from the morning toxicity. He wouldn't be there to see the sun rise that day.

Simple pleasures.

A reasonably slowly travelling Whis flew overhead. Red, or orange – the light it emitted diffused orange, so it was probably orange. It's line was straight, six feet or so above him, descending slowly. Moments later an acid green one, slightly larger, followed a slightly different line. The air was such that the Whis left behind them faint, fading, trails that bled into one another. The fern green mixture was hard to make out against the rustling canopy. A silent dogfight of light hearted flirtatiousness ensued. Duo colourised helices of varying sizes painted the air. The glowing sources grew smaller and smaller, headed off towards Patajs. From where he was, the patterns dissipated outwards and cleared a clean line of sight to the hoary Thill.

He'd relied on that lake. He was fairly connected to it. Like a young teen with a crush looking on at his dream as it faces reality, the only difference was his expression didn't change...

Sentient finger tips pressed against his temples to find out which one hurt more. As his right hand parted his fur, a string of blood bowed downwards, broke from his fur and stuck down the side of his hand. With a loose flick of his wrist the blood shook off and splatted against the thick undergrowth, spraying thin red sparks on the mud in a radial pattern. There wasn't anything machismo about flicking the blood away like that. It was dismissive.

At the same time, his other hand touched the ground. A smooth, hard, cold surface spread against his fingers. He grasped it tightly, pulling it into the palm of his hand. Investigative digits poured over the build of the stone, its curves – its aerodynamics. He turned it, though. He looked into his palm with a lyncean mansuetude in his eyes. He let it slip, despite the temptation.

She'd shown guts. She wasn't afraid. In at least two years he hadn't felt that. The annoyance of bringing this scrawny creature back to where he rest his head was slowly subsiding. The sense of betrayal he experienced for a moment when she stepped into his lake was still there, but not quite so strong.

Clearly. Patajs was a threat. He wasn't about to let his guard down – not visibly anyway.

<span style='color:red'>"Cold enough?"</span> He barked, somewhat huskily. It was a gamble; she may have heard him. Then again she may not have.<tag /></td></tr></table>​

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