Post by Solomon Moon on Jan 25, 2020 3:54:03 GMT -5
This was...
Frustrating, to say the least.
The explosion-producing man seemed to be fighting the two Beowolves in the smoky, smog-filled, crater he had hidden in, and as Carmim slipped up the tree, she sighed, knowing there was damn near nothing she could do to help right now.
Because of course there wasn't.
What could she do anyways? It was like she was just proving Eva wrong on purpose now- yeah, she had her semblance, which should have made up for her lack of melee viability, right? Well that was fucking worthless too! She couldn't use it here, because she couldn't see Solomon, and even if she could, her attacks were incredibly powerful- a wayward blow would be enough to instantly shatter Solomon's aura, at full strength, and she doubted seriously that he was operating at full strength right now anyways. Nobody could be, after running as far as it looked like he had, and facing off against as many Grimm as he was dumb enough to take on.
If she were Argent, she could have sniped the Beowolves through the smoke from here, with precise, elegant, arrows. Not a clumsy sonic boom. If she were Colton, she could launch herself into the cloud and destroy any Grimm that tried to come close. If she were Nik, she could use her semblance to clear the smoke and rip the Beowolves to shreds. If she were Eva, she could heal him, and provide support from further back. If she were Qiu'li, she could rush in and outspeed the Beowolves, tossing them around like toys. If she were anyone but herself, she would be so much more useful right now.
But she wasn't.
She was Carmim Clover, and she wasn't a shark. She was a minnow, in an ocean two thousand times bigger than the little pond she was born in. She felt infinitesimally small out here, in this forest. This stupid, horrible, forest. One of her classmates may well be on the verge of serious injury, or even death, and all she could do was climb a fucking tree to get a better view.
She felt horrible.
As she shimmied up the trunk, slowly approaching the branch, she watched from the corner of her eye as Solomon bludgeoned a hapless Beowolf to death, through the slowly clearing smokescreen. He looked, frankly, deranged. A madman, who seemed to be enjoying this just a little too much to be healthy. The way he mindlessly pummeled the Grimm into the ground, unthinking, only feeling rage and hatred... Not entirely a good way for a Huntsman to be. All that negativity would just draw out more and more Grimm. And even the strongest of Huntsmen... Even Uncle Jabari... Enough Grimm could kill any man, no matter how strong or self-assured.
But that wasn't any of her business. What he chose to do with his thoughts and his feelings, that was all on him.
She continued up the tree. It was the only thing she could do.
The second wolf ran after Solomon, and the two met blow for blow, until a bright light flashed, forcing Carmim to avert her eyes. The sound that accompanied it was loud, even from as far back as she was from the blast. Not nearly as loud as her own semblance, though- his was, however, much like hers, in a way. Both reckless, wanton, destructive forces, carving out slabs of the earth where they struck. But at least he had his hands. At least he was strong enough to face monsters in the eye. She was an artillery weapon- powerful enough to hurt damn near anything short of the worst Grimm, but if she was attacked close up, there was no way she could survive easily.
He was an explosive force of nature as well. But he was capable. Far more capable than she was, clearly, as he ripped into the second Grimm with primal aggression.
She reached the branch, swinging her legs over it and planting her feet firmly into the wood, leaning into the trunk for support, as she leveled her drum towards Solomon and the Grimm. It seemed he had things handled pretty well. However, his rage and her anguish were beacons for Grimm- as he dealt with the one Beowolf, two more, slightly larger, stronger, ones rocketed out of the woods from behind him, aiming to flank him as he dealt with the one he was currently mutilating.
Widening her eyes, she reacted quickly- this blast from her semblance was far stronger than previous attacks, an impossibly loud boom echoing forth as the wind threw her hair back. The cone of air tore through the forest like a screaming missile, muting all other sounds as it quickly approached the Beowolves. It struck them with monstrous impact, savaging their lupine forms- neither came closer than five meters to the Atlesian, as they were enveloped in what now looked like visibly warped air, tearing their bodies into black smoke instantly, the last thing visible, a claw extended towards Solomon's throat.
When the ringing in her ears ceased, she called out to Solomon, assuming he had finished off the last Beowolf. "Are you hurt?" Hopefully he wasn't- she could do very little if he was, but at least if she knew he was injured, he could step back, and recover some while she dealt with whatever Grimm came up on them.
It was the least she could do. The only thing. The only thing she was good for... And not nearly enough.
Frustrating, to say the least.
The explosion-producing man seemed to be fighting the two Beowolves in the smoky, smog-filled, crater he had hidden in, and as Carmim slipped up the tree, she sighed, knowing there was damn near nothing she could do to help right now.
Because of course there wasn't.
What could she do anyways? It was like she was just proving Eva wrong on purpose now- yeah, she had her semblance, which should have made up for her lack of melee viability, right? Well that was fucking worthless too! She couldn't use it here, because she couldn't see Solomon, and even if she could, her attacks were incredibly powerful- a wayward blow would be enough to instantly shatter Solomon's aura, at full strength, and she doubted seriously that he was operating at full strength right now anyways. Nobody could be, after running as far as it looked like he had, and facing off against as many Grimm as he was dumb enough to take on.
If she were Argent, she could have sniped the Beowolves through the smoke from here, with precise, elegant, arrows. Not a clumsy sonic boom. If she were Colton, she could launch herself into the cloud and destroy any Grimm that tried to come close. If she were Nik, she could use her semblance to clear the smoke and rip the Beowolves to shreds. If she were Eva, she could heal him, and provide support from further back. If she were Qiu'li, she could rush in and outspeed the Beowolves, tossing them around like toys. If she were anyone but herself, she would be so much more useful right now.
But she wasn't.
She was Carmim Clover, and she wasn't a shark. She was a minnow, in an ocean two thousand times bigger than the little pond she was born in. She felt infinitesimally small out here, in this forest. This stupid, horrible, forest. One of her classmates may well be on the verge of serious injury, or even death, and all she could do was climb a fucking tree to get a better view.
She felt horrible.
As she shimmied up the trunk, slowly approaching the branch, she watched from the corner of her eye as Solomon bludgeoned a hapless Beowolf to death, through the slowly clearing smokescreen. He looked, frankly, deranged. A madman, who seemed to be enjoying this just a little too much to be healthy. The way he mindlessly pummeled the Grimm into the ground, unthinking, only feeling rage and hatred... Not entirely a good way for a Huntsman to be. All that negativity would just draw out more and more Grimm. And even the strongest of Huntsmen... Even Uncle Jabari... Enough Grimm could kill any man, no matter how strong or self-assured.
But that wasn't any of her business. What he chose to do with his thoughts and his feelings, that was all on him.
She continued up the tree. It was the only thing she could do.
The second wolf ran after Solomon, and the two met blow for blow, until a bright light flashed, forcing Carmim to avert her eyes. The sound that accompanied it was loud, even from as far back as she was from the blast. Not nearly as loud as her own semblance, though- his was, however, much like hers, in a way. Both reckless, wanton, destructive forces, carving out slabs of the earth where they struck. But at least he had his hands. At least he was strong enough to face monsters in the eye. She was an artillery weapon- powerful enough to hurt damn near anything short of the worst Grimm, but if she was attacked close up, there was no way she could survive easily.
He was an explosive force of nature as well. But he was capable. Far more capable than she was, clearly, as he ripped into the second Grimm with primal aggression.
She reached the branch, swinging her legs over it and planting her feet firmly into the wood, leaning into the trunk for support, as she leveled her drum towards Solomon and the Grimm. It seemed he had things handled pretty well. However, his rage and her anguish were beacons for Grimm- as he dealt with the one Beowolf, two more, slightly larger, stronger, ones rocketed out of the woods from behind him, aiming to flank him as he dealt with the one he was currently mutilating.
Widening her eyes, she reacted quickly- this blast from her semblance was far stronger than previous attacks, an impossibly loud boom echoing forth as the wind threw her hair back. The cone of air tore through the forest like a screaming missile, muting all other sounds as it quickly approached the Beowolves. It struck them with monstrous impact, savaging their lupine forms- neither came closer than five meters to the Atlesian, as they were enveloped in what now looked like visibly warped air, tearing their bodies into black smoke instantly, the last thing visible, a claw extended towards Solomon's throat.
When the ringing in her ears ceased, she called out to Solomon, assuming he had finished off the last Beowolf. "Are you hurt?" Hopefully he wasn't- she could do very little if he was, but at least if she knew he was injured, he could step back, and recover some while she dealt with whatever Grimm came up on them.
It was the least she could do. The only thing. The only thing she was good for... And not nearly enough.
Solomon
Rage. Hatred. Violence. They suffused him, flowed through him like a mighty hurricane focused through a point no larger than his breast. He was made of them, his skin like armor plating, his voice like the roar of gunfire, his eye like the heart of a thermite charge. He was made of death. He existed to deliver that death to everything within reach. He wanted to twist, to snap, to crush. To kill. All and everything he desired was to wreak ruin on the entirety of reality. He could do it. All he need do to reduce the mightiest of the trees around him to splinters was reach out his hand and will it. But first he would need to deal with the black beast bellowing it's insolence at him.
Did it not know? Did it not know who he was? Did it not suspect that the end had arrived already, at the very instant that it beheld the One-Eyed Dragon?
"INSECT!" He howled at the obsidian werewolf, voice so overflowing with fury at the insulting weakness of the creature that his words distorted beyond recognition to all but the keenest ears. The aura that wreathed him like a mantle of living fire pulsed with the word, as if the sound were coming from the raging inferno itself. Perhaps it was. It did not sound like the sort of sound a man should make. It was the kind of sound that might rise from the heart of an engine of war as it prepared to unleash ruin.
The wolf snarled, lurking in it's corner of the crater, slavering jaws overflowing with foam, but it was posturing, and the Dragon knew it. It may have survived the blast intact, but the explosion had been purely defensive, and the one eyed destroyer was capable of worse. Far worse. The wolf was hurt, and it hesitated, inhuman red eyes rolling back and forth as it sought for some escape from the certain doom that loomed before it. Too slow. The Dragon came forward, an artillery shell leaping off of a firing pin.
Through the sole of his boot the furious huntsman projected an explosion into the base of the crater, propelling himself forward at blinding speed as he ride the blooming blast like a wave and crashed against the beowolf. He was shrapnel in flight, and at the instant of impact he stretched out his right hand, making a blade of the fingertips and plunging it right through the beast's chest, up to the elbow. The monster snarled, snapping spasmodically at the hunter, but it's strength spilled out as black blood poured out around the arm piercing it's breast. It yelped weakly, sounding less the mighty apex predator and more the kicked puppy, wheezing out it's last breath, almost an accusation, a flame snuffing out.
"Weak" The dragon spat, twisting his buried arm, wringing as much suffering out of the monster as he could in the moments it had left, too bored by it's weakness to feel anything for its anguish but irritation. He twisted his arm again, and the suffering creature tried uselessly to claw at the intruding limb, uttering a gurgling whine that sprayed the hunter's face with steaming blood, but it was no use, even if it had the strength to force the hunter off, it's claws could not seem to penetrate the iron hard flesh beneath his blood-soaked sleeve. Red eyes met gold, and found there nothing, not enjoyment, nor pity. It was a gaze as vacant of sympathy or mercy as the scope atop a rifle.
That golden eye fastened there, glaring into the fading focus of the beast's gaze as if held within it was the answer to some long sought after question. It was as if he meant to see the exact moment that life departed, to document the precise instant that the Grimm went from being a sentient creature to nothing but a punctured bag of stinking meat.
"Show me how you die...." The Dragon snarled, a whisper from one lover to another as if delivered with the revving of an engine.
The One-Eyed Destroyer did not see the other Grimm approaching. He could nearly see it. He could nearly see the border between life and death, that subtle divide between flesh and meat. He could not look away.
The two larger Grimm fell upon him, but still he did not avert his gaze, though he now knew they were there. He could feel the pulsing of blood around his forearm growing slower, and he could feel the beowolf's weight as its body went slack. He watched those red eyes fall shut for the last time. He watched another unique intelligence vanish from the world, a flame forever extinguished, never seen before, never to be seen again. It had been a monster, now it was just a collection of tissues, but it had been alive, it had possessed just as much a right to exist as did the Dragon, and he had killed it. He did not feel victorious, he did not feel proud, nor ashamed, nor pity nor sympathy. Why should he feel anything? It was the simplest thing in the world to make a corpse. He'd made hundreds, perhaps thousands. He felt nothing. IF anything, he felt less.
He waited for the pain. He waited for the two other beowolfs to tear his flesh. He knew it was coming, he could feel their claws as they passed through the tongues of his aura, and he could taste their fury. The rage they felt was not a rage for their dead comrade, who had died a cruel and pointless death. They knew nothing but rage, but hatred, violence. They too were made of death.
"BWOOOOOOOUM"
A deafening sound, like something massive passing by at incredible speed, and incredibly close. The moment stretched on, and into another and then another and The One-Eyed Dragon wondered what was taking the Grimm so long. What had been a beowolf, what had probably had some ambitions other than dying pointlessly in the wilderness, was quickly dissolving and slipped unceremoniously off his outstretched arm. He watched a phantom breeze carry the black blood out of his outstretched palm like ash in the wind. Already the Grimm was unrecognizable as what it had once been.
"Are you hurt." A woman's voice. The Dragon turned about, a swirling black cloud revealing the fate of the Grimm who had meant to ambush him as he toyed with their fellow, and his pitiless golden gaze fell upon the one who had saved him. Red hair, red like blood spilling out of a shattered skull. Red eyes, red like coals smoldering in the ruins of a town or village after the storm passed. Dark flesh, like smoke rising out of a funeral pyre. She was perched in a tree, not too far away, a half dozen branches up. Not far enough. Something deep inside him, so far down that its voice could not reach the surface called out to her, begged her to run.
He did not feel relief, nor kinship, nor admiration. The rage inside him destroyed everything it touched, and left no room for anything else. He was so used to being surrounded by destruction that he did not question the source of that ruin as long as it fell among his enemies. Such was his prerogative now. She may have saved him, but if he felt anything for that fact it was simply a satisfaction that his work could continue, would continue, must continue.
He was made of death. Smiths made swords. Mechanics made the tanks. Engineers made the bridges. And the One-Eyed Dragon...
The One-Eyed Dragon made corpses.
As he looked at the unexpected ally, and eventually past her, his skin felt cold, like ice water filling him from the inside out. The wreath of lashing hues that surrounded him whipped in a phantom wind, snapping, lashing, raging.
He imagined what the girl would look like with her guts pulled out, and he wondered what her lips might look like, smeared with blood. He wondered what kind of noise she'd make when her bones broke, when her pretty red eye was plucked from her skull. He imagined the sound her neck would make when iron claws crushed her windpipe, and he wondered what expression her features would assume in that moment before the end. Fear? Pain? Confusion?
His body seemed to move by itself, an automaton like the Atlesian Knights, carrying out a command written into it's bones. He took one step, then another, the grimm's blood evaporating into black smoke as it dripped off his fingers. A flurry of spasmodic twitches crawled up the right side of his neck, through the ruined flesh on that side of his head and then beneath the dark patch that hid the disfigurement of his right eye. His lips drew back, revealing straight, sharp white teeth in an expression of purest fury. His golden eye, standing out even through the confusion of his aura as it swirled around him like a firestorm, blazed with the lunatic light of utter insanity, as he raised his right hand, which seemed to be the only part of his body that did not churn out a constant stream of his red/blue aura. Something twinkled in his palm, shifting, squirming. A loud shriek pierced the air as a sphere of blinding white plasma blasted out of his outstretched hand.
It cleared the distance between the two Huntsman in less time than it took to blink, the white hot projectile searing a shadow in the air as it scorched the eye. The heat of it was such that as neared the red-eyed girl the leaves on her perch curled and then smoldered and finally flashed away in puffs of dirty smoke. It passed by her head with inches to spare, kissing her flesh with the heat of a forge for the barest instant.
The bolt of energy shattered against the ivory mask of the plunging juvenile nevermore as it swooped towards the tree and the hunter within. The bird shrieked in surprise and pain and pitched sharply upwards, unleashing a buffeting beat of it's vanta-black wings, and stripping Carmine's tree of it's branches from root to peak with the unleashed torrent of gail force winds. The tree bent nearly double, as if it were no more than a sapling, as the great bird crashed into the branches of the canopy overhead, blinded by the smoke and fire covering it's face.
The one eyed man kicked another blast into the earth beneath his feet as he sprang headlong into the cloud of branches unleash by a single beat of the monstrous crow's wings. Splinters of the tree rained down upon him like spears, bludgeoning showers of red and blue sparks off of the Dragon's aura as he soared towards the point in space where the girl had been before the massive bird shredded her vantage point. Half blind, and half blinded by the debris, he spread his arms and snapped them shut like the jaws of a bear trap as soon as he felt something other than splintered wood strike his exposed chest. He came down in a roll, tumbling and trying vainly to shield the precious cargo in his embrace. Something, either a root or fallen tree, hit him hard in the side as he skipped like a stone across the forest floor. Gasping, he stumbled to his feet, clinging desperately to the figure of the other student as he staggered into an unsteady drunken sprint, encumbered by the weight of his comrade and head still spinning from abuse.
Did it not know? Did it not know who he was? Did it not suspect that the end had arrived already, at the very instant that it beheld the One-Eyed Dragon?
"INSECT!" He howled at the obsidian werewolf, voice so overflowing with fury at the insulting weakness of the creature that his words distorted beyond recognition to all but the keenest ears. The aura that wreathed him like a mantle of living fire pulsed with the word, as if the sound were coming from the raging inferno itself. Perhaps it was. It did not sound like the sort of sound a man should make. It was the kind of sound that might rise from the heart of an engine of war as it prepared to unleash ruin.
The wolf snarled, lurking in it's corner of the crater, slavering jaws overflowing with foam, but it was posturing, and the Dragon knew it. It may have survived the blast intact, but the explosion had been purely defensive, and the one eyed destroyer was capable of worse. Far worse. The wolf was hurt, and it hesitated, inhuman red eyes rolling back and forth as it sought for some escape from the certain doom that loomed before it. Too slow. The Dragon came forward, an artillery shell leaping off of a firing pin.
Through the sole of his boot the furious huntsman projected an explosion into the base of the crater, propelling himself forward at blinding speed as he ride the blooming blast like a wave and crashed against the beowolf. He was shrapnel in flight, and at the instant of impact he stretched out his right hand, making a blade of the fingertips and plunging it right through the beast's chest, up to the elbow. The monster snarled, snapping spasmodically at the hunter, but it's strength spilled out as black blood poured out around the arm piercing it's breast. It yelped weakly, sounding less the mighty apex predator and more the kicked puppy, wheezing out it's last breath, almost an accusation, a flame snuffing out.
"Weak" The dragon spat, twisting his buried arm, wringing as much suffering out of the monster as he could in the moments it had left, too bored by it's weakness to feel anything for its anguish but irritation. He twisted his arm again, and the suffering creature tried uselessly to claw at the intruding limb, uttering a gurgling whine that sprayed the hunter's face with steaming blood, but it was no use, even if it had the strength to force the hunter off, it's claws could not seem to penetrate the iron hard flesh beneath his blood-soaked sleeve. Red eyes met gold, and found there nothing, not enjoyment, nor pity. It was a gaze as vacant of sympathy or mercy as the scope atop a rifle.
That golden eye fastened there, glaring into the fading focus of the beast's gaze as if held within it was the answer to some long sought after question. It was as if he meant to see the exact moment that life departed, to document the precise instant that the Grimm went from being a sentient creature to nothing but a punctured bag of stinking meat.
"Show me how you die...." The Dragon snarled, a whisper from one lover to another as if delivered with the revving of an engine.
The One-Eyed Destroyer did not see the other Grimm approaching. He could nearly see it. He could nearly see the border between life and death, that subtle divide between flesh and meat. He could not look away.
The two larger Grimm fell upon him, but still he did not avert his gaze, though he now knew they were there. He could feel the pulsing of blood around his forearm growing slower, and he could feel the beowolf's weight as its body went slack. He watched those red eyes fall shut for the last time. He watched another unique intelligence vanish from the world, a flame forever extinguished, never seen before, never to be seen again. It had been a monster, now it was just a collection of tissues, but it had been alive, it had possessed just as much a right to exist as did the Dragon, and he had killed it. He did not feel victorious, he did not feel proud, nor ashamed, nor pity nor sympathy. Why should he feel anything? It was the simplest thing in the world to make a corpse. He'd made hundreds, perhaps thousands. He felt nothing. IF anything, he felt less.
He waited for the pain. He waited for the two other beowolfs to tear his flesh. He knew it was coming, he could feel their claws as they passed through the tongues of his aura, and he could taste their fury. The rage they felt was not a rage for their dead comrade, who had died a cruel and pointless death. They knew nothing but rage, but hatred, violence. They too were made of death.
"BWOOOOOOOUM"
A deafening sound, like something massive passing by at incredible speed, and incredibly close. The moment stretched on, and into another and then another and The One-Eyed Dragon wondered what was taking the Grimm so long. What had been a beowolf, what had probably had some ambitions other than dying pointlessly in the wilderness, was quickly dissolving and slipped unceremoniously off his outstretched arm. He watched a phantom breeze carry the black blood out of his outstretched palm like ash in the wind. Already the Grimm was unrecognizable as what it had once been.
"Are you hurt." A woman's voice. The Dragon turned about, a swirling black cloud revealing the fate of the Grimm who had meant to ambush him as he toyed with their fellow, and his pitiless golden gaze fell upon the one who had saved him. Red hair, red like blood spilling out of a shattered skull. Red eyes, red like coals smoldering in the ruins of a town or village after the storm passed. Dark flesh, like smoke rising out of a funeral pyre. She was perched in a tree, not too far away, a half dozen branches up. Not far enough. Something deep inside him, so far down that its voice could not reach the surface called out to her, begged her to run.
He did not feel relief, nor kinship, nor admiration. The rage inside him destroyed everything it touched, and left no room for anything else. He was so used to being surrounded by destruction that he did not question the source of that ruin as long as it fell among his enemies. Such was his prerogative now. She may have saved him, but if he felt anything for that fact it was simply a satisfaction that his work could continue, would continue, must continue.
He was made of death. Smiths made swords. Mechanics made the tanks. Engineers made the bridges. And the One-Eyed Dragon...
The One-Eyed Dragon made corpses.
As he looked at the unexpected ally, and eventually past her, his skin felt cold, like ice water filling him from the inside out. The wreath of lashing hues that surrounded him whipped in a phantom wind, snapping, lashing, raging.
He imagined what the girl would look like with her guts pulled out, and he wondered what her lips might look like, smeared with blood. He wondered what kind of noise she'd make when her bones broke, when her pretty red eye was plucked from her skull. He imagined the sound her neck would make when iron claws crushed her windpipe, and he wondered what expression her features would assume in that moment before the end. Fear? Pain? Confusion?
His body seemed to move by itself, an automaton like the Atlesian Knights, carrying out a command written into it's bones. He took one step, then another, the grimm's blood evaporating into black smoke as it dripped off his fingers. A flurry of spasmodic twitches crawled up the right side of his neck, through the ruined flesh on that side of his head and then beneath the dark patch that hid the disfigurement of his right eye. His lips drew back, revealing straight, sharp white teeth in an expression of purest fury. His golden eye, standing out even through the confusion of his aura as it swirled around him like a firestorm, blazed with the lunatic light of utter insanity, as he raised his right hand, which seemed to be the only part of his body that did not churn out a constant stream of his red/blue aura. Something twinkled in his palm, shifting, squirming. A loud shriek pierced the air as a sphere of blinding white plasma blasted out of his outstretched hand.
It cleared the distance between the two Huntsman in less time than it took to blink, the white hot projectile searing a shadow in the air as it scorched the eye. The heat of it was such that as neared the red-eyed girl the leaves on her perch curled and then smoldered and finally flashed away in puffs of dirty smoke. It passed by her head with inches to spare, kissing her flesh with the heat of a forge for the barest instant.
The bolt of energy shattered against the ivory mask of the plunging juvenile nevermore as it swooped towards the tree and the hunter within. The bird shrieked in surprise and pain and pitched sharply upwards, unleashing a buffeting beat of it's vanta-black wings, and stripping Carmine's tree of it's branches from root to peak with the unleashed torrent of gail force winds. The tree bent nearly double, as if it were no more than a sapling, as the great bird crashed into the branches of the canopy overhead, blinded by the smoke and fire covering it's face.
The one eyed man kicked another blast into the earth beneath his feet as he sprang headlong into the cloud of branches unleash by a single beat of the monstrous crow's wings. Splinters of the tree rained down upon him like spears, bludgeoning showers of red and blue sparks off of the Dragon's aura as he soared towards the point in space where the girl had been before the massive bird shredded her vantage point. Half blind, and half blinded by the debris, he spread his arms and snapped them shut like the jaws of a bear trap as soon as he felt something other than splintered wood strike his exposed chest. He came down in a roll, tumbling and trying vainly to shield the precious cargo in his embrace. Something, either a root or fallen tree, hit him hard in the side as he skipped like a stone across the forest floor. Gasping, he stumbled to his feet, clinging desperately to the figure of the other student as he staggered into an unsteady drunken sprint, encumbered by the weight of his comrade and head still spinning from abuse.
| @tag | 1097 words | notes |
Velvet of WW
