in space the stars are no nearer; just glitters, like a morgue
It’s autopilot, the way Danta snatches his arm away at the brush of warm fingers against his elbow, the Maverick turning sharply as if expecting a fight, or to be hauled away back somewhere dark and lonely with only his hunger for company. But the soft purr of Asta’s voice hits the air, encouraging and calm and with solutions for the gnawing chasm in the pit of his stomach, and Danta manages a shallow, almost apologetic nod before he sets off again through the long grasses.
Breaking into a jog before shifting mid-step, the crow that takes to the air is near invisible against the blackness of the night sky, but he doesn’t fly beyond the tree line, wanting to keep an eye on both the fyrhund below and anything else that might pop up. And it takes a while and a bit of careful flight on his part, but eventually he does spy movement from below, letting out a sharp caw of anticipation.
It’s a fox, weaving through the foliage and between scrubby trees for something good to hunt, not realising that it will soon trade in its role of predator for prey. It doesn’t consider a large crow much of a threat, either, not even when it swoops into a mad dive, and by the time Danta shifts back to land on the vulpine as something much larger (i.e. himself), it’s far too late.
The crack of breaking bone is a swift, sharp thing in the echo of the Maverick’s landing, and by the time Asta comes across him again he’ll already be tearing into the creature with his bare hands, dark sleeves soaked with blood and his teeth and fangs making short work of any of the raw flesh he rips free.
Breaking into a jog before shifting mid-step, the crow that takes to the air is near invisible against the blackness of the night sky, but he doesn’t fly beyond the tree line, wanting to keep an eye on both the fyrhund below and anything else that might pop up. And it takes a while and a bit of careful flight on his part, but eventually he does spy movement from below, letting out a sharp caw of anticipation.
It’s a fox, weaving through the foliage and between scrubby trees for something good to hunt, not realising that it will soon trade in its role of predator for prey. It doesn’t consider a large crow much of a threat, either, not even when it swoops into a mad dive, and by the time Danta shifts back to land on the vulpine as something much larger (i.e. himself), it’s far too late.
The crack of breaking bone is a swift, sharp thing in the echo of the Maverick’s landing, and by the time Asta comes across him again he’ll already be tearing into the creature with his bare hands, dark sleeves soaked with blood and his teeth and fangs making short work of any of the raw flesh he rips free.
Dantalion
Horns: Diamond - they look very similar to #2 in this image.
