(Lost) The Hunt
Mar. 10th, 2011 10:32 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
spydacarnage.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
writing_shadowsA background piece, inspired by ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
faerierhona's words of hunt, prey, and passion.
A wisp of flame trails out behind him as his powerful wings cut through the air around him. His eyes trace the contours of the land beneath, searching for his latest target. It was small, maybe the size of a goat, although it was more like a mouse in shape and activity.
A brief movement in the foliage to the right. He banks sharply, the mouse coming into view. More movement, quicker now. It must have spotted him; it’s running. Dodging in and out between the trees it darted, thinking it would save it. Little did it know, it was only delaying the inevitable. He revelled in the thrill of the chase, the chance to flex his claws, to bring down his prey.
From his altitude, tracking the mouse was easy, his eyes now locked on target. Starting to dive, sleek and graceful, blazing towards the mouse like a comet. Faster and faster, catching up every second; scorching the tree line as he flies. It darts left and right, but it cannot shake him. The feeling flowing through him, like ecstasy; the taste already in his mind. Closer.
With a jolt, his talons extend, barely missing as the mouse ducks off to the side at the last minute. It stumbles; the sudden movement causing it to lose balance. As it recovers, the fiery form circles and prepares to dive in again. This time the mouse doesn’t have the momentum, and duck and dive as it might, the second swoop is successful, his claws sinking deep into its back.
A feeling of pleasure spreads through him; pride, victory. And guilt. How can he ever explain this to the Lady of the Ship. The need to chase, to kill; against the desire not to. Every time she fixes him, brings him back, and every time he is sent out again. He sits there on the still wriggling body, caught between the pleasure and the pain. To feed or not to feed. He has to disappoint someone – the Captain or the Lady.
With regret, he thrusts his beak deep into the back of its neck and rips. Flesh and bone torn asunder; blood erupting. Once again, the Captain wins. The Lady has work to do once more.
faerierhona's words of hunt, prey, and passion.A wisp of flame trails out behind him as his powerful wings cut through the air around him. His eyes trace the contours of the land beneath, searching for his latest target. It was small, maybe the size of a goat, although it was more like a mouse in shape and activity.
A brief movement in the foliage to the right. He banks sharply, the mouse coming into view. More movement, quicker now. It must have spotted him; it’s running. Dodging in and out between the trees it darted, thinking it would save it. Little did it know, it was only delaying the inevitable. He revelled in the thrill of the chase, the chance to flex his claws, to bring down his prey.
From his altitude, tracking the mouse was easy, his eyes now locked on target. Starting to dive, sleek and graceful, blazing towards the mouse like a comet. Faster and faster, catching up every second; scorching the tree line as he flies. It darts left and right, but it cannot shake him. The feeling flowing through him, like ecstasy; the taste already in his mind. Closer.
With a jolt, his talons extend, barely missing as the mouse ducks off to the side at the last minute. It stumbles; the sudden movement causing it to lose balance. As it recovers, the fiery form circles and prepares to dive in again. This time the mouse doesn’t have the momentum, and duck and dive as it might, the second swoop is successful, his claws sinking deep into its back.
A feeling of pleasure spreads through him; pride, victory. And guilt. How can he ever explain this to the Lady of the Ship. The need to chase, to kill; against the desire not to. Every time she fixes him, brings him back, and every time he is sent out again. He sits there on the still wriggling body, caught between the pleasure and the pain. To feed or not to feed. He has to disappoint someone – the Captain or the Lady.
With regret, he thrusts his beak deep into the back of its neck and rips. Flesh and bone torn asunder; blood erupting. Once again, the Captain wins. The Lady has work to do once more.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-03-10 11:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-11 08:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-11 09:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-11 12:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-11 01:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-11 02:09 pm (UTC)