her wagon spokes made of long spinners' legs

Moath · (This post was last modified: April 05, 2019, 05:33 PM by Moath.)

my bad, fully unintentional. I’m bad at group thread orders so that helps a lot!

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...

First, a voice of honey, sounds of a windy pasture in the middle of spring’s most grand of wake-up. Daffodils and tiger lilies danced in this breeze, flowers he knew not names of, but only sights, images, smells. Whomever the woman was that spoke first to Mother, this Speedy, and Moath hadn’t come to register how different she was before a voice with a whip within pulled his sights back to them.

An involuntary swallow kept him from drowning in his own salivation as he regarded who would be known as Hydra. She held less suave inclination in her voice, and though the lessened sense of threat lie in the beguile his Mother possessed, Hydra was not without a command of her own. His skull had rightened, and he was processing what this woman would have been, perhaps, in relation to their own Family. But he felt the tug of his attention,

Mother yet again, spoke.
Whoever the male was besides Hydra had only briefly caught his line of sight as he felt Megara finishing up her reasoning of being here. His stomach riled a protest, loud and angered that it had not been replenished, when in all actuality he had fed earlier on that day. Moath clearly did not need anymore food- but something awful was starving within.

Almost knowing his control was waning, Megara snapped him back once again, the mental prowl recessing back to guard from her soul-snatching glance.

He could do nothing but wait.

And in silence, he waited.