[Wild Roses]
Title: Trickster moment
'Verse/characters: Wild Roses; Arianhrod
Prompt: 34C "time"
Word Count: 263
Notes: follows arrested motion. One sketched piece is up to four, now. This is the first of 'em.
I have to wonder if I've just started a war, as my Hand notes the fist I've got clenched around a thrashing tail, looks at me with a question in his eyes. I shake my head and he leaves it, only sneaking glances at me when he thinks I won't catch him.
What in Winter's name am I supposed to do with a fox's tail? I would have given it back to one of Lehseet's grandpups, preferably in her presence so they'd bleed again for playing a stupid game. There's a space for angry actions, when one knows the other side, a space for fury when they're reasonably sure I won't just kill them.
But he wasn't. Fox, yes, unquestionedly--if the grin hadn't given it away the eyes would have. But he wasn't one of Lehseet's. Some stranger's son, some stranger's brother, and my hand clenches tighter, hard enough to press my nails into my palm.
We'd probably win. But I've never seen a fox fight to kill, and without knowing what to look for . . . the tail just warped under my fingers.
I pause, sneak a glimpse of my own, and then have to suppress a grin as wide as the fox's. Press my palms together, crush energy into matter, and slip the near-painfully-hot stone into the seam pocket at my hip. It will keep.
In the meantime, I have nobility to reassure that I'm not mad as I tell small lies to soothe their feathers. I may even have to dance with that scarred up boy, if he gets up the courage to ask.
'Verse/characters: Wild Roses; Arianhrod
Prompt: 34C "time"
Word Count: 263
Notes: follows arrested motion. One sketched piece is up to four, now. This is the first of 'em.
I have to wonder if I've just started a war, as my Hand notes the fist I've got clenched around a thrashing tail, looks at me with a question in his eyes. I shake my head and he leaves it, only sneaking glances at me when he thinks I won't catch him.
What in Winter's name am I supposed to do with a fox's tail? I would have given it back to one of Lehseet's grandpups, preferably in her presence so they'd bleed again for playing a stupid game. There's a space for angry actions, when one knows the other side, a space for fury when they're reasonably sure I won't just kill them.
But he wasn't. Fox, yes, unquestionedly--if the grin hadn't given it away the eyes would have. But he wasn't one of Lehseet's. Some stranger's son, some stranger's brother, and my hand clenches tighter, hard enough to press my nails into my palm.
We'd probably win. But I've never seen a fox fight to kill, and without knowing what to look for . . . the tail just warped under my fingers.
I pause, sneak a glimpse of my own, and then have to suppress a grin as wide as the fox's. Press my palms together, crush energy into matter, and slip the near-painfully-hot stone into the seam pocket at my hip. It will keep.
In the meantime, I have nobility to reassure that I'm not mad as I tell small lies to soothe their feathers. I may even have to dance with that scarred up boy, if he gets up the courage to ask.