by Feint » 05/07/2014 9:16 PM
The coach's face, not visible to the crowd from the great distance between them, was twisted into an ugly leer, the flesh around it as purple as a bruise. Mwenye's heart sank, but there was little he could do. He held his head high, hitched his wings back, steadied his stance through the pain of his ankle, and strode forward to the tent exist, mane flowing in the slight breeze he generated as he walked, as majestic as a king.
He curled up on the floor of his open cage to the echoed sound of cheers, resting his throbbing ankle against the cool metal floor to ease the pain and angry tendons. His golden eyes, though inches from his fur and squinting as hard as they could, were not able to fully tell if his pained wrist was swollen, even with his healthy ankle held beside it for comparison.