He was smaller than they were, almost pathetically so with their great golden wings and talons like knives. Even the otter was not so much smaller than him, not so easy a prey amid the fresh-fallen snow. A wiser beast would have slunk away, knowing itself outmatched and seeking to strike instead another day when they were scattered, alone, vulnerable to his attack.
Ah, but the aroma that wafted from those roses they all clutched so dearly was sickening in its sweetness, a cloying mockery of the winter peace around them, futile red flags pitifully waving against death's season and the sweet embrace of oblivion that the snows offered. Was he not a servant of death in all its forms? The part of him that sought to please the darkness at the end of life could not simply walk away from this heresy, this travesty against the balance of the world.
Even in the depths of his madness he wasn't fool enough to attack the monstrous winged lion, and he recognized nothing of the eagle. The otter though... the otter drew himwith a scent like starlight and the memory of warmth.
It burned like acid in his chest, a rage building even greater than that which drove him day and night, and he bunched his muscles beneath his snow-white fur, slinking on silent paws around the snowbank, behind the fallen stones, stalking, hunting thistreasured wretched little creature who made him feel such agonizing pain beneath his ribs. The only way to stop the pain was with blood and more blood, splashed red across the snow in Deepfrost's true garden, not this abomination they made play at.
Cunning little monster, dainty pawed and black-mawed, the fox made sure to creep up on the otter, keeping her between him and the others before he pounced, soundless and swift from behind the fallen stone, intent on closing tar-stained jaws around her and ending her rose-planting days for good.
Foxgano attempts to pounce at Amalia and interrupt her planting!
Ah, but the aroma that wafted from those roses they all clutched so dearly was sickening in its sweetness, a cloying mockery of the winter peace around them, futile red flags pitifully waving against death's season and the sweet embrace of oblivion that the snows offered. Was he not a servant of death in all its forms? The part of him that sought to please the darkness at the end of life could not simply walk away from this heresy, this travesty against the balance of the world.
Even in the depths of his madness he wasn't fool enough to attack the monstrous winged lion, and he recognized nothing of the eagle. The otter though... the otter drew him
It burned like acid in his chest, a rage building even greater than that which drove him day and night, and he bunched his muscles beneath his snow-white fur, slinking on silent paws around the snowbank, behind the fallen stones, stalking, hunting this
Cunning little monster, dainty pawed and black-mawed, the fox made sure to creep up on the otter, keeping her between him and the others before he pounced, soundless and swift from behind the fallen stone, intent on closing tar-stained jaws around her and ending her rose-planting days for good.
Foxgano attempts to pounce at Amalia and interrupt her planting!
