[The first fireball misses its mark, the second collides like orange mercury against the raised steel of Masamune, dissipating in the next few seconds. He can feel the heat lick the skin of his exposed hands; he finds the prospect of her conjuring forth more of that flame exciting, should she manage to somehow ensconce him in it.
But for now, she flees. And he takes to the sky.
The branches, rather, of the shivering trees high above their heads. Landing on one branch to propel to another, they shake and groan beneath the furor of his energy and excitement. He can hear her as she weaves through the underbrush, thinks that he might feel every vibration of her breath in her lungs — or her heart pulsing in her throat — but perhaps that’s imagined on his part, a predator's instinct given to fantastic notions of what sensations could await him should he catch his prey.
He doesn’t mean her any true harm, of course, but one might be hard-pressed to believe that if they saw what was transpiring: his relentless pursuit with every protest of leaves above, the glint of deadly steel in his hands, and a pointed descent to the ground to cut off her route. For a moment, her vision may swell with only black feathers as he swoops just above her, landing in her path in a half-crouch. His arm sweeps out, and Masamune’s cutting arc follows. Bramble and forest detritus is cut clean in half.
A clear warning — or a proverbial cat playing with a mouse?]
no subject
But for now, she flees. And he takes to the sky.
The branches, rather, of the shivering trees high above their heads. Landing on one branch to propel to another, they shake and groan beneath the furor of his energy and excitement. He can hear her as she weaves through the underbrush, thinks that he might feel every vibration of her breath in her lungs — or her heart pulsing in her throat — but perhaps that’s imagined on his part, a predator's instinct given to fantastic notions of what sensations could await him should he catch his prey.
He doesn’t mean her any true harm, of course, but one might be hard-pressed to believe that if they saw what was transpiring: his relentless pursuit with every protest of leaves above, the glint of deadly steel in his hands, and a pointed descent to the ground to cut off her route. For a moment, her vision may swell with only black feathers as he swoops just above her, landing in her path in a half-crouch. His arm sweeps out, and Masamune’s cutting arc follows. Bramble and forest detritus is cut clean in half.
A clear warning — or a proverbial cat playing with a mouse?]
Not fast enough. What will you do now?