bloodsport

Larkspur D'Angelo · 05-24-2011, 12:36 AM

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pray to your god, open your heart

Word Count: -- ●

Words were words, and Larkspur had little patience for them. He had been a stunted child and unable to speak properly until his second year, and only learned this common tongue from Misery and the endless repetition that followed. This too was echoed in his body—repetition, that was—for muscle memory paced him behind Sirius and kept his pace even with the lanky male’s. Subconscious signals were responded to. The stiff-legged walk, the high tail, these were displays of dominance that the D’Angelo thrived on. Larkspur needed structure and discipline, but he refused to find it in those too weak to hold power.

Silently, he observed. He had known the scent when he had found it and had no reason to follow. It was much-faded now, given the blood and the excrement left behind from the kill, but even Larkspur had to admit Sirius’ skill as a hunter. Orange eyes narrowed as he watched the earth-colored male work. They widened slightly at the unspoken command, and his body snapped into attention. Feral as he was, Larkspur was a creature of habit; he knew to obey these wordless orders well.

Sirius was faster than he, and Larkspur fell behind. He trailed after the hybrid, white-tipped paws thundering against the soft earth below. This was a fool’s errand, but one he intended to see through.

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