Hotaru
I want a snowfall kind of love
the kind of love that quiets the world
the kind of love that quiets the world
There is no time to hesitate. As she nocks an arrow and draws it smoothly to her cheek, she lays her fingertip against the metal head and summons her lightning to dance magnetically along its wicked edges. The crackle of electricity so close to her ear is swallowed in the roar of another creature, intrinsic might drowning out magic as it swells like cannon fire in the open expanse of the tundra.
Tawny-gold and massive, fast, and far too surreal a creation to her widening eyes as it leaps for the ursur. Still, Hotaru is not a woman to hesitate before a kill. Even less so the type to let surprise divert her practiced aim. Letting her electrified arrow fly, she aims for the ursur - the initial threat, not...whatever this new creature is. Whether it strikes true into the thick neck or not she stalks closer, notching another arrow and drawing it taut in threatening preparation.
Adrenaline burns hot, matching the familiar strain of muscle as she holds the arrow in limbo, awaiting its prey. Circling slightly for a better shot she watches with bated breath - perhaps even avid excitement - to see what this new predator will do as the loud meaty connection of their bodies swells in her ears. The ursur is tossed onto its side, paws scrabbling at ice and opponent alike as it instinctively tries to conceal its belly and throat. An aborted noise rises in her throat as her fingertips tense around the fletching of her arrow as one mighty paw swipes for the manticore's face.
Tawny-gold and massive, fast, and far too surreal a creation to her widening eyes as it leaps for the ursur. Still, Hotaru is not a woman to hesitate before a kill. Even less so the type to let surprise divert her practiced aim. Letting her electrified arrow fly, she aims for the ursur - the initial threat, not...whatever this new creature is. Whether it strikes true into the thick neck or not she stalks closer, notching another arrow and drawing it taut in threatening preparation.
Adrenaline burns hot, matching the familiar strain of muscle as she holds the arrow in limbo, awaiting its prey. Circling slightly for a better shot she watches with bated breath - perhaps even avid excitement - to see what this new predator will do as the loud meaty connection of their bodies swells in her ears. The ursur is tossed onto its side, paws scrabbling at ice and opponent alike as it instinctively tries to conceal its belly and throat. An aborted noise rises in her throat as her fingertips tense around the fletching of her arrow as one mighty paw swipes for the manticore's face.
The kind of love that keeps you in bed all day
won't you bury me in your quiet love?
won't you bury me in your quiet love?
