( the longer the dragon gives chase, the more his flash of anger tempers at having been made a fool of — by his own doing, he would begrudgingly acknowledge, though taken out on the cat — but the heat of the mortification and the icy shock provoked him into this. his outrage sublimates with each bound into something brighter, something that rarely lifts his bogged-down spirits especially these days: thrill. of the chase, of pursuing the form of an old and trusted ally through the skeletal wintry shadows of unfamiliar wilderness with unflinching determination to catch him, almost as if he loses sight of him, he will do so forever.
that presentiment remains a peripheral concern, a doubt his greater mind won't let dominate because while it may be true in the broader scope of things, it won't be true for this moment. he's too focused on the wind streaking past his face through his hair, the scents that fill his nostrils and his head with information he could have never obtained as a mere branded, the cat's nimble liquid maneuvers that always keep him just out of reach, the single-mindedness of finally pinning his prey down for keeps... soren can tell he's teasing him, knows when he's feinting lower speeds just to whet his hopes even when in reality he could outstrip him if he really wanted to, and that only goads the dragon on more. when ranulf takes to the branches, he takes to wing, using those new appendages of his to spring and leap right after him. it's good practice. but strangely enough? it's... fun.
they keep up their chase like this for a few fast-paced moments longer until soren aims a weak blast of white-blue breath at one of the limbs ranulf is about to land on. )
no subject
that presentiment remains a peripheral concern, a doubt his greater mind won't let dominate because while it may be true in the broader scope of things, it won't be true for this moment. he's too focused on the wind streaking past his face through his hair, the scents that fill his nostrils and his head with information he could have never obtained as a mere branded, the cat's nimble liquid maneuvers that always keep him just out of reach, the single-mindedness of finally pinning his prey down for keeps... soren can tell he's teasing him, knows when he's feinting lower speeds just to whet his hopes even when in reality he could outstrip him if he really wanted to, and that only goads the dragon on more. when ranulf takes to the branches, he takes to wing, using those new appendages of his to spring and leap right after him. it's good practice. but strangely enough? it's... fun.
they keep up their chase like this for a few fast-paced moments longer until soren aims a weak blast of white-blue breath at one of the limbs ranulf is about to land on. )