Change everything you are and everything you were
Your number has been called
A cat and mouse game; no intervals of rapacious edges or carnivore extremes, and he might’ve been inclined to less savage intervals had his first attempts not missed. Speed was a factor he’d have to contend with, even in his smaller form, as she dove and plunged in different directions, no way for him to calculate, to exploit, to sear and simmer in obvious clarity. It might be mere luck that would permit him to prevail.
And wouldn’t it be triumphant, to actually be victorious for once?
He took to the skies again as she continued her rampage into the groves, into the woods, far swifter as the eagle than as the man, the poignant, sharpening fringes of frustration beginning to coil their way along his schemes. But the beast wouldn’t unravel, not just yet, firmly in control of his machinations and movements – no rage, no contempt, no wrath, no pervading overtures but silent irreverence, incapable of permitting her to flee without a fight, without a challenge. The Sword had a mission. He’d see it through until the end.
These trials would be different, however – streamlining above, and plummeting, plummeting, plummeting again, the wind at his face and the earth below his feet, talons hoping to reach, to scorch –
Until he altered again, heavier, broader, without wings but taut with fur, paws, claws, and muscle, all feline bulk dropping down, intending, attempting to land upon her as a tiger, force her into the ground, into the soil, into the snow, where she could be captured once more.
And wouldn’t it be triumphant, to actually be victorious for once?
He took to the skies again as she continued her rampage into the groves, into the woods, far swifter as the eagle than as the man, the poignant, sharpening fringes of frustration beginning to coil their way along his schemes. But the beast wouldn’t unravel, not just yet, firmly in control of his machinations and movements – no rage, no contempt, no wrath, no pervading overtures but silent irreverence, incapable of permitting her to flee without a fight, without a challenge. The Sword had a mission. He’d see it through until the end.
These trials would be different, however – streamlining above, and plummeting, plummeting, plummeting again, the wind at his face and the earth below his feet, talons hoping to reach, to scorch –
Until he altered again, heavier, broader, without wings but taut with fur, paws, claws, and muscle, all feline bulk dropping down, intending, attempting to land upon her as a tiger, force her into the ground, into the soil, into the snow, where she could be captured once more.
DEIMOS
