on the forefinger of an alderman

Moath · (This post was last modified: January 19, 2019, 12:14 PM by Moath.)

There was nowhere left to go, nowhere left to run. Panic crept up my throat as I ran into yet another dead end, and realized he had led me here. Turning around, I found him...

Again he was bombarded with the feeling of being watched. His muscles diminished their effort as the gigantuan heads of the bison faced him and his lack of stealth. They were a multitude Times his size, but they were slightly skittish. They all rose up and trampled away on thick barrels of muscles legs, leaving the following man back in a cloud of snow and snorts.

He hadnt shaken his pelt free, and he watched them forsake him, and something sparked in him as he just took off with them. He hadn’t felt this much energy flow through him at a snapped moment before, and it felt terrible to run. But steel muscles pumped and the Void was a black nightmare behind the brown burly moving mountains.

The weakest one was straggling behind, and it was easy to catch up to the limping meal. But as he tossed his body forward to throw himself across the hind, a hind heel, hoof just sharply missing his chest and whamming his shoulder a bit, while the heel itself knocked into Moath’s extended neck. His throat felt the impact, and most specifically his vocal chords. His shoulder was knocked, and his balance was thrown off.
It wasn’t long before he was down.

And in silence, he waited.