Where in the name of skies had he come from? She had become aware of him when she had heard some of the rider of the clan grumbling, swearing, and wearing ripped cloaks and tunics covered with slobber and skies knows what else. They had segregated him, not knowing what it was that made him look like something that should not even be walking. Was it a disease? Well, if it was, they didn't want their beasts to come down with it.
In fact, she had followed one of the grumbling warriors to the pen where the animal was being kept, trying to find out from him why he was carrying not one, but two lances. Degas had full intentions of killing the beast, and this would just not do. She had run circles around the man, trying to find out what was going on, only to be pushed away none too gently. There was murder in his eyes, and at this point he was not to be deterred. When they got to the pen, her eyes widened, and her jaw dropped in amazement. She had never seen anything like him. Dirty, mangy, torn and just flat out ugly. For the briefest of moments she was not even sure it was a kaiila, it was more like a parody of the elegant, graceful beasts she was accustomed to.
Degas climbed the fence, lances in hand, walked toward the beast, and first threw one with that unerring aim, and force that very few possessed outside the lands of the plains. Again her jaw dropped, seeing the huge beast side step the lance with a grace that did not seem possible from one his size. Stepping up onto the bottom rail, she watched as Degas charged the beast with a loud growl, lance lowered, intent to plunging it into the beasts heart. What happened next, would be told around the kaiila clan fires for a very long time. The mangy beast simply grasped the lance within its' maw, tossed his head, sending Degas flying over his back into the dirt. It then turned one baleful eye to the man, closed its' jaws, biting the lance in two.
Then, as if he was weary of their presence, he charge the man, who was scrambling to his feet, and running to the fence. Degas had just managed to scale the rungs and drop to the safer side of the barrier when the animal stopped. She could have swore, he was laughing. Do kailla laugh? Well, this one does.
The animal then turned his back, gave a shake of its' abnormally large head and shat on them. Not the usual kaiila dropping, but a spray of damp, oily, noxious matter that had this unerring mark of landing on Degas. It then snorted walked away and turned to look at them both, with an arrogant gleam in its' eyes.
Curses the like that she had not heard in awhile came from Degas as he stormed off, yelling at her to deal with the animal, for he was through!
Now, she is not a stupid woman, and had the good sense to step back from the fence, hopefully out of range of any more offerings from the beast and watched him curiously. What had turned the animal into the beast that she was seeing, and was there any hope of turning him back?
In fact, she had followed one of the grumbling warriors to the pen where the animal was being kept, trying to find out from him why he was carrying not one, but two lances. Degas had full intentions of killing the beast, and this would just not do. She had run circles around the man, trying to find out what was going on, only to be pushed away none too gently. There was murder in his eyes, and at this point he was not to be deterred. When they got to the pen, her eyes widened, and her jaw dropped in amazement. She had never seen anything like him. Dirty, mangy, torn and just flat out ugly. For the briefest of moments she was not even sure it was a kaiila, it was more like a parody of the elegant, graceful beasts she was accustomed to.
Degas climbed the fence, lances in hand, walked toward the beast, and first threw one with that unerring aim, and force that very few possessed outside the lands of the plains. Again her jaw dropped, seeing the huge beast side step the lance with a grace that did not seem possible from one his size. Stepping up onto the bottom rail, she watched as Degas charged the beast with a loud growl, lance lowered, intent to plunging it into the beasts heart. What happened next, would be told around the kaiila clan fires for a very long time. The mangy beast simply grasped the lance within its' maw, tossed his head, sending Degas flying over his back into the dirt. It then turned one baleful eye to the man, closed its' jaws, biting the lance in two.
Then, as if he was weary of their presence, he charge the man, who was scrambling to his feet, and running to the fence. Degas had just managed to scale the rungs and drop to the safer side of the barrier when the animal stopped. She could have swore, he was laughing. Do kailla laugh? Well, this one does.
The animal then turned his back, gave a shake of its' abnormally large head and shat on them. Not the usual kaiila dropping, but a spray of damp, oily, noxious matter that had this unerring mark of landing on Degas. It then snorted walked away and turned to look at them both, with an arrogant gleam in its' eyes.
Curses the like that she had not heard in awhile came from Degas as he stormed off, yelling at her to deal with the animal, for he was through!
Now, she is not a stupid woman, and had the good sense to step back from the fence, hopefully out of range of any more offerings from the beast and watched him curiously. What had turned the animal into the beast that she was seeing, and was there any hope of turning him back?
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