and on to the glory at my right hand
"Then maybe she ought to find someone else's skirts to hide behind, and take them with her," Ronin supposes, in a tone as dark and velvety as an assassin dripping poison into a victim's ear. It isn't the time, and yet here they both are, and the longer the conversation goes on, the less of a grasp the Huntsman has over his own self-control.
And unlike his husband, who has always been a predator in some ways, even back in Northaven, Ronin is unprepared for what comes next. The snarl that rips through the air is enough to rile him right over the edge, and whilst Remi has the sense to draw back, to apologise, Ronin does not.
The sound that tears out of the Huntsman's throat in response isn't a snarl as much as a roar of something primal and furious, and the alchemist's words are so small, so laughable, that Ronin almost really does laugh in his face at them. "They are not safe here," he snarls, just about - his body is already warping and changing, shifting into a form that's both unfamiliar and not.
A long, serpentine tail whips out and across the Stonesong, the bulk of the dragon enough to easily span the width of the river. Wings snap out to stretch and shadow the houseboat, black as pitch and flecked with starlight. Ronin seems to absorb the light of the sun around them, and eyes as fiercely blue as they are reptilian focus on the man below him. Nothing is safe, here.
And unlike his husband, who has always been a predator in some ways, even back in Northaven, Ronin is unprepared for what comes next. The snarl that rips through the air is enough to rile him right over the edge, and whilst Remi has the sense to draw back, to apologise, Ronin does not.
The sound that tears out of the Huntsman's throat in response isn't a snarl as much as a roar of something primal and furious, and the alchemist's words are so small, so laughable, that Ronin almost really does laugh in his face at them. "They are not safe here," he snarls, just about - his body is already warping and changing, shifting into a form that's both unfamiliar and not.
A long, serpentine tail whips out and across the Stonesong, the bulk of the dragon enough to easily span the width of the river. Wings snap out to stretch and shadow the houseboat, black as pitch and flecked with starlight. Ronin seems to absorb the light of the sun around them, and eyes as fiercely blue as they are reptilian focus on the man below him. Nothing is safe, here.
ronin
