Herbalists' Cache mintgrass

lestan mayfair knew the taiga, and ultimately it was the taiga to which he returned, driven by something adjacent to instinct which rattled the back of his teeth and dragged his hapless form vaguely in the direction of where natigvik had once been.
if he could only recapture that feral feeling — if only he could use it to sharpen himself into more, more than this wishy-washy pudding of a man.
night and day and night and day again before he stopped for a true rest and a hunt. 
the doe with blue eyes. he would look for her now; that vision had been his first of magick.

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: guts & gore

a doe with brown eyes.

its entrails spilled over the half-felled tree.

lavish, crimson streamers hung up into waning leaves. rich red carpet strewn over the bark. centerpiece, herself, graceful in stillness - a painter's dream.

little waterfall of red dotting the grass, like the splatter of a paintbrush.

just trust me on this one :) 

blood on the air, deer's blood; and the mayfair turned back to hunger whirled.
he stalked the snow until he found the torn body, and the scent smeared over; and lestan felt horror; he fell back some steps, looking in all directions even as his dizzied gaze beheld that this was not blueberry, the animal he had sought and foolishly named and now looked for again.

stairs to a mansion; the tree leaned against another, which leaned against a cliff.

enthroned on it, was sa Majesté.

her delicate fingers glowed in red.

mmm. she purred, looking at the tiny, peasantly form admiring her work.

her rich voice rose over the buzz of flies, mouth in light while shadows fell over face.

un paysan est venu à ma cour~!

"j'étais un prince," lestan mumbled, kaa holding mowgli ensnared as his pupils darkened and widened, until the cat filled all of his marrow with terror and he knew he would never see reverie again.
and where had this language come from!
ah, julian; a man he had never known, playboy witch of a spirit., sweet cigarette smoke in a parisian night.
"am fiadh seo," he tried again, but that wasn't right either; lestan backing and backing and finally falling hard to his rump. fire-lake, fire-fairy, save me now.
"you can't k-kill me! i have to go back."

an ear flicked.

oh? her smile added glint to gemstone eyes.

in a fluid motion, she rose. it flowed into a leap, a ricochet off a tree trunk -

and a landing before the frightened brute.

prince mendiant, her purr melded into a soft laugh. where iz your royaume? your cour?

teasing.

your dauphine?

"i am no longer that," lestan retorted. terror still flickered in his eyes, in his belly; he trembled but refused to openly quail.
a step back. another, another as snow sprayed around and his heart lurched into throat. "i only want a deer. a g-god, i think."
he held his breath.

it were frightened, she guessed. had privilege of assuming. 

her head lowered.

she took a step.

another.

each claw unsheathed and sheathed in turn.

her whiskers felt the tremors of breath.

sweet scent of terror.

ah-lright.

la reine swept her skirts to the side, pulled herself away from la brute terrifiée.

an elegant arm extended, and gestured at the waterfall of crimson. 

'ave at it. pale pink pearls. 'ave your deer.

mischievous glint. a whisper.

boot you won't 'ave a gohd.

the moments moved past and lestan mayfair realized he would not die.
not — yet?
his heart was sickened. was there hope yet for him to return a better man to swiftcurrent? his honeyglow eyes swung between the deer and the cat, the deer and the cat —
"it's not what i want."
daring;
"what do you know about gods?" lestan spoke and turned at the same time, not allowing her to circle if that is what she wanted.

she twirled him; a minuet.

there iz but one gohd, prince mendiant, and 'is palais is zhe zky. long tail swayed heaven-wise. 

'e zees zhat l'ordre iz kept. les reines long living, les princes mendiants...

a ripple through the body. claws unsheathed, tail lashed -

her circling continued, sa Majesté chuckling. 

les princes mendiants knowing zheir place.

"my place is!"
at the creek.
with reverie.
his face twisted with pain; thinking of her bleeding suffering moaning and finally retreating.
the utter lack of comfort in his eyes.
"there are gods on earth. i know. i met one."
stubborn, turning with her as nape bristled.

un prétendant! exclaimed she, exasperated, eyes to the sky. as if educating a child!

non. zhis gohd, zhis deer-dieu - what 'az it done for you? 'ow 'as it proven itzelf?

her circling halted. she looked at the petit bute with her first soft expression - pity, disappointment.

uz, chasseuses, mangeuses, do not obey prey, prince.

can mess him up, follow, or fade here; if u choose no contact then this will be his exit post from this thread <33

suddenly he was absolved of all consciousness; conquered by a shimmering and mute fear. "i do not want obedience. i want!" tongue hoarse and throat hurting;
at last lestan turned and began his flight, skin waiting for the unendurable pain he knew he must fight to escape, to disallow such agony to be his end.
in his chest, a mayfair's heart gone fallow with disconnection to earth and sky and blood and stone, gone cowardly with the laughter of the man he had never met, julien!

and when he made that final twirl, her bladed hand reached forward -

parting gift. a last squeeze of supple flesh before the menuet's end, the cello's string still a-quiver.
 
her laugh gave chase to his ears.

run, run prince mendian! run to your petits dieux!

she ascended a tree, to perch atop a branch, more gargoyle than queen.

and know zhere are two gods - zhe Sun, un we!

and her laugh became a scream.

have decided to assume she cut deep! <3 gonna have him exit here but feel free to have her track if u want ;) <3

horror! agony!
her screaming!
lestan felt no pain, only that he experienced a humming violent buzz in every part of himself that was the rattling of his own bones, chattering of his own teeth; he tumbled into the snow and ran and ran and ran until his throat was rife with burning air.