Lion Head Mesa the serpent goddess

You have been poisoned.

Leshen’s ears fell and his teeth shone in an ugly, twitching grimace. He hated her in that instant, and hated himself more for trusting her. A growl was building in his chest, savage and vengeful…

But you will not die.

These words processed slowly; the dial-up internet sound screeched in his head. His dire fear ebbed, taking his retaliatory anger with it, and the hideous snarl of hatred that had crawled up his throat suddenly quieted and slid back into the pit of his polluted gut. He looked up into the cold gems of her eyes, feeling crushed beneath the weight of her decree. He understood why he was being punished.

He understood why he was being spared.

The serpent wolf watched as she placed something else before him, which he reflexively shied from as if burned. Once bitten. A narrowed red gaze followed her as she took a piece of the medicine and demonstrated to him that it was not dangerous. His trust was but a thread at this point, yet he was wise enough to know when he had been bested. This offering would either be the nail in his coffin or his saving grace. He hardly thought it mattered at that point.

Snatching up the large green pellet, Leshen gave the witch a single beat-long glare before turning and skittering off into the distant wood. He wanted only to find a gravesite in that moment, to prepare himself for a night-long death.