this is the reckoning
The Sword wouldn’t know what to do with an enchanted fiddle, and so he nodded, permitting the subject to disappear into its unsettled void. The coiled apprehension seemed to persist though, and he pondered if it was hers, sharp, insistent, a residual, inherent thing clustered and cloistered around. He would’ve arched a brow if hellhounds maintained them, but left it, the matters dropping away.
Paws and hooves it was to be then – furtively amused by the shifting of sheep horns and wool. From the corner of his eyes he watched as she became a battering ram through the embankments, and he shook his head, digging deeper into the snow, nudging his nose along into the wake. When that didn’t seem adequate, and the beast couldn’t catch any particular scent along the ice, he turned around, hastening to other potential spots. There was no semblance of defeat in his movements or motions, the perseverance, fortitude, and might a paramount insurgency in his blood. Even in the midst of searching for damned antlers; not the tried and true endurance and menacing prowess required for dealing with multitudes of monsters, but remaining all the same.
The hope sparking through the connections caused him to lift his head, narrowing the piercing eyes. Zuriel glanced at the scene rather indifferently, as if the motions were now suddenly beneath her, but the hellhound’s movements were distinct and predacious, an avaricious motion as he came to stalk at Hester’s pawing efforts. Therein, his massive paws aimed to make quick work, digging, shoving, pushing aside the snow, until he thought he could see the mark, the residual glow. There? And then he continued, prevailed, a tenacious striving, to unearth, to snag, to take.
When the gilded hues came more to life and light, relief flickered through his frame; antlers upholding, his teeth wrapping around their surface, and pulling their adornments from the rest of the snow. Thank you was an outright acknowledgment, the gratitude tangible.
Paws and hooves it was to be then – furtively amused by the shifting of sheep horns and wool. From the corner of his eyes he watched as she became a battering ram through the embankments, and he shook his head, digging deeper into the snow, nudging his nose along into the wake. When that didn’t seem adequate, and the beast couldn’t catch any particular scent along the ice, he turned around, hastening to other potential spots. There was no semblance of defeat in his movements or motions, the perseverance, fortitude, and might a paramount insurgency in his blood. Even in the midst of searching for damned antlers; not the tried and true endurance and menacing prowess required for dealing with multitudes of monsters, but remaining all the same.
The hope sparking through the connections caused him to lift his head, narrowing the piercing eyes. Zuriel glanced at the scene rather indifferently, as if the motions were now suddenly beneath her, but the hellhound’s movements were distinct and predacious, an avaricious motion as he came to stalk at Hester’s pawing efforts. Therein, his massive paws aimed to make quick work, digging, shoving, pushing aside the snow, until he thought he could see the mark, the residual glow. There? And then he continued, prevailed, a tenacious striving, to unearth, to snag, to take.
When the gilded hues came more to life and light, relief flickered through his frame; antlers upholding, his teeth wrapping around their surface, and pulling their adornments from the rest of the snow. Thank you was an outright acknowledgment, the gratitude tangible.
DEIMOS
