// go get your gun, get your gun //
It shouldn’t be as relieving as it is, and yet as the words leave Isla’s lips, the tension in Astaroth’s shoulders lessen. He dips his chin a little in a nod, his smile softening with his gratitude as he twists on a heel to start heading in the direction he imagined they would be trying to hunt around. “Thank you, darling. I really do appreciate it.” He has to get it out before he shifts into his fyrhund shift, ensuring she knew how grateful he was for it.
He’s held off on his bloodlust a touch too long, admittedly, and perhaps that would make it easier. For now, though, fear burns alongside anticipation, mixing into an awkward burning sensation in the pit of his gut. “Well, I suppose we shall get started, then.” The sooner it began the sooner it would end, and with the cane secured in a space it couldn’t be stolen, the butcher becomes volcanic hound, dropping his perfect posture and attire for a very much on edge smoldering fyrhund.
Orange eyes glance back toward Isla to see if she’s shifted, before his paws scrape against the ground and he lowers himself in a relatively stealthy maneuver toward a particular crag, reminiscent of the same that had been beside where he’d been kept. Smoke pours from his nostrils as he searches, huffing a little blip of flame into the crack of volcanic rock. A few seconds pass and from it, five gore crows rise out of the ground with caws and croaks of meat! and eyes! gliding over the ground to try and get away.
A sharp whine escapes the butcher, a clear panic set in his chest that makes him hesitate for a moment before he pushes through it with his ears flat against his skull and he forces himself to chase after them.
He’s held off on his bloodlust a touch too long, admittedly, and perhaps that would make it easier. For now, though, fear burns alongside anticipation, mixing into an awkward burning sensation in the pit of his gut. “Well, I suppose we shall get started, then.” The sooner it began the sooner it would end, and with the cane secured in a space it couldn’t be stolen, the butcher becomes volcanic hound, dropping his perfect posture and attire for a very much on edge smoldering fyrhund.
Orange eyes glance back toward Isla to see if she’s shifted, before his paws scrape against the ground and he lowers himself in a relatively stealthy maneuver toward a particular crag, reminiscent of the same that had been beside where he’d been kept. Smoke pours from his nostrils as he searches, huffing a little blip of flame into the crack of volcanic rock. A few seconds pass and from it, five gore crows rise out of the ground with caws and croaks of meat! and eyes! gliding over the ground to try and get away.
A sharp whine escapes the butcher, a clear panic set in his chest that makes him hesitate for a moment before he pushes through it with his ears flat against his skull and he forces himself to chase after them.
Astaroth
// and lets find out what it does //
