prompt 170: Tooth and Claw
Title: Destinies
Author: britedark
Universe: pre-canon
Word Count: 248
Warnings: none
Summary: The fight is over, but the story is not done.
Destinies
He fell against the mountain. Fangs bared, snarling, he rolled to his feet, preparing to spring back onto his hated foe. He crouched, sinking deeper, calling on his reserves...
He realized then, that his gambit had worked. The claw ripped from his left forepaw blazed as youki swirled and sank into it. The dragon’s head jerked and twitched, both pairs of eyes wide and desperate, the fanged mouth struggling to open, as the spell took hold. The eyes glazed over: the head sagged as eyelids closed and the massive, iron-hard body stilled.
The dog’s own eyes closed as his grievous wounds made themselves known. Instincts yammered to find safety, and concentrate on healing. But, the thrumming in his mind called otherwise. Wearily, thoughts drew on an age-old pattern.
A man dropped to the ground. A shaking hand raised and settled on the frantically thrumming and shaking swords.
“No,” he told them, denying the forged pieces of himself their desire to rejoin, to become one and heal. “I made you for a different destiny.” Tensaiga went silent. Tessaiga rattled, filled with conflicting messages. Its link to him urged joining, its link to elsewhere wailed of blood and death-and imminent birth.
“I know,” he told Tessaiga. “My destiny-to die. Your destiny-to protect.”
The silence on the mountain was cold and chill. Breaking that silence with a grunt, as he pushed himself to his feet, he looked at the imprisoned dragon, and bowed.
“And your destiny, my foe, is to wait.”
Author: britedark
Universe: pre-canon
Word Count: 248
Warnings: none
Summary: The fight is over, but the story is not done.
Destinies
He fell against the mountain. Fangs bared, snarling, he rolled to his feet, preparing to spring back onto his hated foe. He crouched, sinking deeper, calling on his reserves...
He realized then, that his gambit had worked. The claw ripped from his left forepaw blazed as youki swirled and sank into it. The dragon’s head jerked and twitched, both pairs of eyes wide and desperate, the fanged mouth struggling to open, as the spell took hold. The eyes glazed over: the head sagged as eyelids closed and the massive, iron-hard body stilled.
The dog’s own eyes closed as his grievous wounds made themselves known. Instincts yammered to find safety, and concentrate on healing. But, the thrumming in his mind called otherwise. Wearily, thoughts drew on an age-old pattern.
A man dropped to the ground. A shaking hand raised and settled on the frantically thrumming and shaking swords.
“No,” he told them, denying the forged pieces of himself their desire to rejoin, to become one and heal. “I made you for a different destiny.” Tensaiga went silent. Tessaiga rattled, filled with conflicting messages. Its link to him urged joining, its link to elsewhere wailed of blood and death-and imminent birth.
“I know,” he told Tessaiga. “My destiny-to die. Your destiny-to protect.”
The silence on the mountain was cold and chill. Breaking that silence with a grunt, as he pushed himself to his feet, he looked at the imprisoned dragon, and bowed.
“And your destiny, my foe, is to wait.”