who we are and all that we're trying to be
The hound took the time to maneuver his head around, playing with the blindfold along his muzzle until it wound its way to the end of his nose. Its last high-note was to fall to the ground, ivory on pale snow, before he grabbed hold of it with his teeth, tossing it mid-air in some semblance of amusement and distraction.
But he listened to Jigano too, snorting mildly at the insinuation of clever tactics. It backfired, because I could not pinpoint you either. It might’ve been mere fortune, or sheer dumb luck he’d found the dragon at all in the noise, the cacophony of sound. But the Sword had always been one to calculate, to scheme, to plot, to unfurl options and opportunities; sometimes they were successful, and in other instances left to the rest of the slaughter. He’d remember it for another time though, and recall his own abilities to focus and hone; the present unwinding into things too fresh, too new.
At the insinuation of heading back into town, the General ceased his play with the cloth, keeping it tucked within his mouth, rampaging along because he could; muscles yearning, longing to unfurl, to brandish modicums of hell and demolition. Yes, in accord and agreement, not switching to his human form when this was so much faster, so much swifter, so much quicker; tracking prints into the rime, back towards home.
{FIN}
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts
