by Feint » 01/17/2010 5:50 PM
((I've apparently deleted my reply notification. :B sorry 'bout that))
Muffincakes warbled loudly and turned on Corey, feathered arms beating angrily. He made a wild swipe at him and missed by a mile, then swung again at a different angle. "This'un 's goin' 'ome," he crowed.
Saru, meanwhile, darted on all fours back by the tail-end of the stunned turkeyzilla, who had begun to snore. He didn't want to be anywhere near his teeth when he woke up. Warily, Saru peered out at the battle and watched Muffin-whoever swing again and again at Corey, his "father." This guy sucks, he snorted as he watched swing after swing fly by Corey without disturbing a hair. He didn't even need to dodge. Saru pursed his lips as he saw one of the monster's punches seem to know where it was going. If "Daddy" can't dodge that, he's going to go flying, he thought to himself, and bit his lip to think. It always took effort for him to use his brain. Parts of it, anyway. Suddenly, his eyes lit up with an idea. A glorious one, in fact. Was he, Saru, not over level fourteen? What was he so worried about some base-level nitwit for? Without thinking, he charged for the turkeyzilla's feet. He knew from experience that the easiest way to make the big guys fall was to aim for the leg-joints. He shot behind Muffincakes and darted away from his left foot, which had moved back a step, and jumped up level with the thick bend in the right leg. He landed right on target and sank a rather unheroic bite deep into foul-smelling turkey flesh. Muffincakes's leg instantly buckled, but the turkeyzilla managed to save himself from falling completely. He squalled in fury and turned around to see what had bitten him, but Saru had already leapt off and run to safety.
My wraiths, though not wraiths then, wandered deep into the heart of the polar storm. They tried to fight sleep, naive to the inevitability of their fate. When they awoke, they saw before them my own self, so much a part of the ice and cold they almost fail to see me. I wear a crown of the coldest, sturdiest ice, and my claws and fur have coated themselves in it.
I stand aloof to the cold, for I have lived in it so long, been a part of it so long, it no longer concerns me.
My wraiths are cursed to wander the polar tundra, eternally freezing, following mortal explorers and trying to warn them with their presence that they should not travel onward, should not make the same mistake. But there will always be those who persist in pressing on, never knowing what they are doomed to face, or destined to suffer.