Hayame’s senses were well-honed on the frontiers of human civilization, raised as a tool of a weaker race since the moment she was taken bloody and bawling from a mother with no arms to hold her. She has been trained to hunt, to find, to capture or to kill-
And this one. This one she wants to kill.
Her senses hone on him the second she can detect him, her dark eyes blown out with a rush of hatred. The man who had first held a hand out to her when she’d been rebirthed naked and afraid in a cavern of crystal, who had appealed to her pride as if he knew what her’s was. The man who Estinien had named, who she’d seen act against him when he was near frozen with Innocence in an accidental melding of Firebranded minds.
“M”.
One of the Kenoma she’d sworn she would bring back to Greentruth—- both his shard and his head, whether the latter rotted away in her hands before she could display it or not. There is his throat. There is a perfectly sized blade at her waist.
But first she has to avoid his. He gives her time with his announcements, the insult jabs but she will take it for what it grants her- the chance to dodge. She cannot avoid it completely, the downside of a larger body is a larger target, but he throws for her ribs and she throws her body back in a clatter of hooves that doesn’t match the glamor of human feet scrambling, biting into her lip with sharp canines to muffle any sound of pain he might delight in.
The knife penetrates flesh and muscle… and then clatters to the cobblestone street, unable to sink far enough into her body to stick when she has sacrificed a bony lower shoulder instead. The Veneran woman screams. Hayame draws her own bow, six feet of perfectly calibrated curve and sinew draw, an arrow notched and fired in the space it takes to blink twice.
no subject
Hayame’s senses were well-honed on the frontiers of human civilization, raised as a tool of a weaker race since the moment she was taken bloody and bawling from a mother with no arms to hold her. She has been trained to hunt, to find, to capture or to kill-
And this one. This one she wants to kill.
Her senses hone on him the second she can detect him, her dark eyes blown out with a rush of hatred. The man who had first held a hand out to her when she’d been rebirthed naked and afraid in a cavern of crystal, who had appealed to her pride as if he knew what her’s was. The man who Estinien had named, who she’d seen act against him when he was near frozen with Innocence in an accidental melding of Firebranded minds.
“M”.
One of the Kenoma she’d sworn she would bring back to Greentruth—- both his shard and his head, whether the latter rotted away in her hands before she could display it or not. There is his throat. There is a perfectly sized blade at her waist.
But first she has to avoid his. He gives her time with his announcements, the insult jabs but she will take it for what it grants her- the chance to dodge. She cannot avoid it completely, the downside of a larger body is a larger target, but he throws for her ribs and she throws her body back in a clatter of hooves that doesn’t match the glamor of human feet scrambling, biting into her lip with sharp canines to muffle any sound of pain he might delight in.
The knife penetrates flesh and muscle… and then clatters to the cobblestone street, unable to sink far enough into her body to stick when she has sacrificed a bony lower shoulder instead. The Veneran woman screams. Hayame draws her own bow, six feet of perfectly calibrated curve and sinew draw, an arrow notched and fired in the space it takes to blink twice.
Her and Liem’s target is the same.]