like a wild thing

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame To match their obnoxiousness, the arrow sailed over the fluffy movements of the squirrel’s tail, missing. A certain edge rolled along his jaw, eyes narrowing briefly, and was just short of raising his hackles at the stupidity. Despite his apparently lack of assistance, Hotaru’s strike was true, the blow of the whip slashing, smacking, and slicing through the air, the squirrel’s evasion worthless, as it staggered, and was brought to an end by her dagger. She made no point about his error, kind of her, since it already grated and seethed on his senses. He arched a brow, nodded, and then deliberated his next move – violence not to be outdone. Perhaps there was no need for weapons then – placing his bow down, and contorting the savage inclinations within his blood. Familiar, greeting death like an old friend, its sharpened, honed tenacity brimmed and brewed along a once-Reaper’s soul. There for eternity, an insistent, wicked dominion for two separate lifetimes, following him through prestige, intimidation, and demise, the life drain pulsed in its maddening, glorious wake. It’d been a long time since he’d had to utilize it – and the incantations acted as if it required a stretch, a leisurely, languid stroll through ichor and devastation, recalling its roles, its acrimony, its pernicious, paralyzing scales. Silent and sure, it slid and slithered from his presence, a boundless entity in his control, sliding over hedges and vines, over boughs and branches, singling out several squirrels chattering on the edges, believing they were out of harm’s way. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace