this is the reckoning
The Sword had to fight against his own mercenary instincts – to not give chase, to not bellow and howl and rip into fleeing, fleeting accords. But over the inherent pull was the curiosity, the inquisition, carrying him through, and he waited, watched, as the bird’s outrage and panic over the embers was evident. It didn’t take him long to sully the cinders, paws managing to muffle and contort the inferno into nothing thereafter, and only subsided from snorting at the leopard’s first comment. I have been tempted. Setting fire to a whole assortment of issues, problems, trials, tribulations, and irritating people had always been an enticing notion – but his control was usually there, in the forefront, rather than the backdrop.
He nudged his hound shoulder back in return, and then angled forward, over the newly ashen leaves, fronds, ferns, and soil, placing his paws into the soot and corrupted earth, and lowering his head. He sniffed and snorted at the feather, uncertain of its attributes, but incapable of detecting anything he’d deem as potent. Did poison have an odor? Might be safe he laughed, backing away and off, allowing and allotting a space for her to snag and grab.
He nudged his hound shoulder back in return, and then angled forward, over the newly ashen leaves, fronds, ferns, and soil, placing his paws into the soot and corrupted earth, and lowering his head. He sniffed and snorted at the feather, uncertain of its attributes, but incapable of detecting anything he’d deem as potent. Did poison have an odor? Might be safe he laughed, backing away and off, allowing and allotting a space for her to snag and grab.
DEIMOS
