am i the wolf or the savior?
is my smile too sharp or just my teeth?
is my smile too sharp or just my teeth?
Perhaps Danta could make a holiday of it — a purge of sorts where the butcher was allowed to make off with some of the worst offenders. Either that, or he would need to start taking trips further out — there had to be less than savory (or more savory, in the butcher’s case) people out in Levinsward or the occasional visitor to Jack Tar Landing.
Ah but then he’d be so far from the comforts of Danta’s bed.
At any rate, it’s a good thing that Danta hangs back — the butcher becomes a volcanic hound practically foaming smoke and lava from his maw, feral to the highest degrees as more magma seeps from the plates between his shoulders. It’s an erratic, uncontrolled launch that has the butcher darting through the foliage and around bushes, in such stark contrast to the frantic grace the deer still has as it bolts.
But it doesn’t matter, because Astaroth is fast and he is swift in the kill. Claws dig into the foe’s hind quarters, fueled by the bleat that has him working tenfold, dragging the deer down by sheer might and force. Once he’s sure he’s incapacitated it (mostly by the sickening crunch of its legs between his sharp maw), the butcher takes the moment to shift back into himself, splattered with blood as he sinks his too sharp teeth into the doe’s neck, ripping and tearing flesh away to seek the much better portions inside.
Ah but then he’d be so far from the comforts of Danta’s bed.
At any rate, it’s a good thing that Danta hangs back — the butcher becomes a volcanic hound practically foaming smoke and lava from his maw, feral to the highest degrees as more magma seeps from the plates between his shoulders. It’s an erratic, uncontrolled launch that has the butcher darting through the foliage and around bushes, in such stark contrast to the frantic grace the deer still has as it bolts.
But it doesn’t matter, because Astaroth is fast and he is swift in the kill. Claws dig into the foe’s hind quarters, fueled by the bleat that has him working tenfold, dragging the deer down by sheer might and force. Once he’s sure he’s incapacitated it (mostly by the sickening crunch of its legs between his sharp maw), the butcher takes the moment to shift back into himself, splattered with blood as he sinks his too sharp teeth into the doe’s neck, ripping and tearing flesh away to seek the much better portions inside.
Astaroth
come a little closer
