Some would say that the shift was painful or strange, perhaps even just the means to an end, but Royal relished in the prickling sensation as feathers gathered over his skin. He delighted in the elongation of once-firm musculature as it twisted and bent into necessary form. And he reveled in the secondary hindbrain that rode him with ever-growing fervency when it came to the fore. It felt more like release than bedding a woman ever could. That’s not to say that backing a female wasn’t a favorite in his repertoire, but nothing quite compared to the primal exertion it took to embrace the side of him that longed. Even as he took to the skies with more ferocity than was normal, he luxuriated in the expanding of his wings and the heavy pulls of cooling wintry air that made his travels that much more difficult.
In the heat of a summertime afternoon, he would have risen as high as the clouds would let him, but with the air becoming thin and icy with the impending Frost, Royal was forced to maintain a lower elevation. It still plagued him as he pushed harder against the crisp noontime breeze, but the ever-present nagging of hunger drove him only onward toward the Wilds in search of nourishment. However, he’d also come with the intention of gathering a few prizes to stay him through the worst of the oncoming cold. He knew it was rather late in the game to be guessing his odds for survival, but he supposed beggars couldn’t be choosers… especially when they lacked the common sense to prepare in advance. Wasn't he just pitiful.
As the crow sailed over the outer borders of the Dreaming Well, he began to listen in earnest for indications of prey in the area. He had taken to the dense thicket surrounding the Well, scouting periodically for signs of small rodents or hare while occasionally stopping to land on heavy limbs far above the ground cover. While it took him quite a spell to locate the particular creatures of his interest, he wasn’t prepared to find another hunter in their midst. Frustration and possessive anger swelled in his chest as he took to perching far above the younger man’s head, his wingbeats giving him away immediately. It even looked as though he’d brought two wolves to assist him in his hare-hunting endeavors, one of them as black as night and the other a stormy gray. They appeared to be herding a singular hare into the nest of their master, whereupon he might have the chance to bring it down. However, the forest was teeming with life and as Royal studied the unwanted visitors with some fervor, he began running through the possibilities that one or the other might succeed in their labors.
They could work opposite the other if they so desired and ruin all opportunities for their competitor… or they could attempt to form a temporary alliance that might benefit them both. Of course, it also wouldn’t hurt the gore crow’s feelings if he simply stole their prize right out from under their noses despite hearing the telltale signs of further prey lurking just beyond their station. Imagine what turning one hare into two or three would do. He salivated at the thought. But then again, most everything was capable of making his mouth water these days. The time for feasting was upon him and he didn't exactly care how it happened.
Sah
In the heat of a summertime afternoon, he would have risen as high as the clouds would let him, but with the air becoming thin and icy with the impending Frost, Royal was forced to maintain a lower elevation. It still plagued him as he pushed harder against the crisp noontime breeze, but the ever-present nagging of hunger drove him only onward toward the Wilds in search of nourishment. However, he’d also come with the intention of gathering a few prizes to stay him through the worst of the oncoming cold. He knew it was rather late in the game to be guessing his odds for survival, but he supposed beggars couldn’t be choosers… especially when they lacked the common sense to prepare in advance. Wasn't he just pitiful.
As the crow sailed over the outer borders of the Dreaming Well, he began to listen in earnest for indications of prey in the area. He had taken to the dense thicket surrounding the Well, scouting periodically for signs of small rodents or hare while occasionally stopping to land on heavy limbs far above the ground cover. While it took him quite a spell to locate the particular creatures of his interest, he wasn’t prepared to find another hunter in their midst. Frustration and possessive anger swelled in his chest as he took to perching far above the younger man’s head, his wingbeats giving him away immediately. It even looked as though he’d brought two wolves to assist him in his hare-hunting endeavors, one of them as black as night and the other a stormy gray. They appeared to be herding a singular hare into the nest of their master, whereupon he might have the chance to bring it down. However, the forest was teeming with life and as Royal studied the unwanted visitors with some fervor, he began running through the possibilities that one or the other might succeed in their labors.
They could work opposite the other if they so desired and ruin all opportunities for their competitor… or they could attempt to form a temporary alliance that might benefit them both. Of course, it also wouldn’t hurt the gore crow’s feelings if he simply stole their prize right out from under their noses despite hearing the telltale signs of further prey lurking just beyond their station. Imagine what turning one hare into two or three would do. He salivated at the thought. But then again, most everything was capable of making his mouth water these days. The time for feasting was upon him and he didn't exactly care how it happened.
Royal
motherfucker, you can try artificial suicide
