The universe is full of magical things
The soft clink of metal doesn't fit with the hum of flapping wings and Knell flashes an intrigued look to Asta's cane, which has fallen apart into smaller pieces of sharpened metal strung together. "Fun," she repeats, angling her head to get a better view of the weapon, curious as to what it might do, or better yet, what Asta might do.
Having thought the wings pretty herself, it makes sense that they would make a good offering for the deity, and she doesn't stop him as Asta steps out to attack the creature. In one fell swoop, a single wing drifts to the forest floor. The treeflit and time remain suspended for a moment, weightless before gravity overwhelms the leftover limb, pulling it down with an unusual warbling sound that echoes in her ears. There's a strange, macabre beauty to it, an approaching death despite glittering wings and gem studded scales that glint in the dappling light.
It feels different than when the blink hare had bled in the clutches of her fangs, different than reading about the slow fade of life when a soul dies. It's not for the purpose of feeding or the observation of science, but a display of dominance and power, a demonstration for the 'mere fun of it.' There's a thrill in it that she can understand, an uptick in her heartrate as the treeflit falls, an admiration for the skill required - but Knell doesn't rejoice in the impending death just for the excitement of crushing a weaker lifeform. She tilts her head to look around Asta, studying the soft thud of the body against the forest floor as if it were a beautifully dropped flower rather than a creature fighting a losing battle.
The treeflit struggles with its wing, buzzing against the damp soil and dropped berries, red mixing with red. It tries desperately to find air again, flipping back and forth without a care for when Knell steps forward. She crouches next to it, tail suspended behind her in quiet attentiveness, red hair falling into her face as she leans down to poke an experimental finger into its writhing body. The movements become a frenzied twitching, looking for an escape that it won't find.
"Interesting," Knell reports, lifting her head back to Asta for guidance. "Now what?"
Having thought the wings pretty herself, it makes sense that they would make a good offering for the deity, and she doesn't stop him as Asta steps out to attack the creature. In one fell swoop, a single wing drifts to the forest floor. The treeflit and time remain suspended for a moment, weightless before gravity overwhelms the leftover limb, pulling it down with an unusual warbling sound that echoes in her ears. There's a strange, macabre beauty to it, an approaching death despite glittering wings and gem studded scales that glint in the dappling light.
It feels different than when the blink hare had bled in the clutches of her fangs, different than reading about the slow fade of life when a soul dies. It's not for the purpose of feeding or the observation of science, but a display of dominance and power, a demonstration for the 'mere fun of it.' There's a thrill in it that she can understand, an uptick in her heartrate as the treeflit falls, an admiration for the skill required - but Knell doesn't rejoice in the impending death just for the excitement of crushing a weaker lifeform. She tilts her head to look around Asta, studying the soft thud of the body against the forest floor as if it were a beautifully dropped flower rather than a creature fighting a losing battle.
The treeflit struggles with its wing, buzzing against the damp soil and dropped berries, red mixing with red. It tries desperately to find air again, flipping back and forth without a care for when Knell steps forward. She crouches next to it, tail suspended behind her in quiet attentiveness, red hair falling into her face as she leans down to poke an experimental finger into its writhing body. The movements become a frenzied twitching, looking for an escape that it won't find.
"Interesting," Knell reports, lifting her head back to Asta for guidance. "Now what?"
Knell
patiently waiting for our wits to grow sharper.
