ToastySpam
Legend
Hello everyone! I haven't been super active (read: have completely vanished) for a little while now, as going to uni has completely absorbed a lot of my time. Now with Easter and Quarantine (my two favourite holidays), I should have more free time so I'd like to get back into spending more time on here, both OOC and IC.
At the moment, I'm working on an ongoing creative writing project. It's something very different for me, and involves a lot of world building - something I have little practice in. I would like to go on to write a much larger epic in this world, but at the minute I don't have the confidence in either myself or the world to start that. To build up that confidence, I've been working on a series of vignettes set in said world. The one you're about to read is the first one I wrote, and features one of my central characters - Erin ferch'Mari. As this is the first one I've written, there will undoubtedly be inconsistencies with later pieces. There is already a noticeable difference in tone in these earlier one-shots than in the things I'm writing at the moment, for example.
I would very, very much appreciate any feedback whatsoever; however harsh. I can only do so much to identify my own flaws and places of improvement without critique from others.
So, without further ado, here's:
It was curious – Erin had hurt herself before of course, being an adventurous child, but had never had blood in her mouth. Her blood.
Nor had she ever been injured quite so badly. Her legs and arms had been covered in all sorts of cuts and bruises throughout her short life – but this was a vicious gash, enough to leave a scar should she live long enough to bear it. It carved a small canyon from the upper bridge of her nose, just missing her right eye and scoring into her cheekbone. Blood burbled from the injury like a mountain brook, dripping down her face and splashing into the scalesand that covered the floor, staining it a deep red.
Tag leered darkly at her from across the pit. Her blood trickled also from his wickedly sharp talons. It soaked into his leg, turning the wrinkled, yellow skin to the brown of rust. He cocked his head and fluffed his feathers, all of his movements symbolising aggression. A milky third lid flicked over each of his eyes so fast she could barely see it.
As a male Hebog, he was the smaller gender of his species – next to little Erin the bird was a monster. At his full height, he stood over half a body taller than her, and at least ten times her width.
It would only take a single flap of his impressive wings for him to cross the room and crush her against the wall of the pit.
But just like her, he was scared. She could almost feel the fear emanating from both of them like a mist. To a bird, fear was a hindrance. To a Pilot – which she would be, if she survived this – it was a weapon. Adrenaline streamed down into her her limbs, flowing with the pain from her injury. It made her hyper-aware of her surroundings, of the stink of her own sweat and the crunch of the sand beneath her feet.
She grabbed onto that awareness with her mind, and took a single step across the sand.
The instant she began to move, he beat his wings at her. The wind generated nearly knocked her over. He opened a maw the colour of wilted lilac and let out a warning call – a terrifying shriek that echoed around the pit and grated on her ears like metal on metal. The very sound of it seemed to claw at the inside of her skull. A barely controllable urge rippled through her to fall to the floor in terror, clap her hands about her ears, and give up.
But if she gave up…
She thought about the fire of hope and jealousy that raged strong in her heart when she saw Pilots sailing through the sky, no longer limited by the boundaries of Hynafaidd’s back. She imagined herself as one of them, the wind whistling past her ears as she dived with her bird, bursting through the cloud barrier and seeing the unknowable bounty of the Untouchable Lands below.
This dream was not over for her. Not yet.
“Easy, boy.”
Tentatively, she raised her arms up in front of herself, almost pleading – like a veteran begging for alms. Her hands shook so fiercely they felt like they would pull her wrists right out of their sockets. Sweat dropped from one of her bangs and hit her eyelash, irritating her almost more than the pain from her cut, but through it all she kept her arms up, palms spread.
“It’s okay, beautiful! Oh, my beautiful boy, my beautiful bird. You wouldn’t hurt me, would you?”
Her voice sounded wobbly and so very, very small. The feathered beast lifted one talon out of the sand and set it down again in a small cloud of dust, cocking his head and opening his beak slightly – as if to say yes, actually, I would.
She took another step, still cooing gently and speaking to him as she would a babe (albeit a huge, deadly one). Soothing, but authoritative. He merely continued to eye her warily, but didn’t make any threatening movements, and she took that as a good sign.
As she approached him, it was impossible not to appreciate his beauty, even as she shook with fear. Tag was a viciously gorgeous bird.
His coat of feathers was streaked with fiery oranges and light, tawny browns. His beak was a shade of yellow so pale that it was almost white – except for the tip, which was the hard grey of stone and curved into a lethal hook. The line where his beak opened traced back into the bones of his skull, and even through the deceptively pretty fluff of his feathers she could make out the muscle definition that lay beneath. This was a predator, a living machine of speed and sinew – built purely to kill. And, Lord Below, it was her task to tame it.
“Easy, Tag. My beautiful bird. I’m not going to hurt you. I’d never hurt you.”
He parted his beak slightly and made a squawking noise, flexing his wings. Every single feather was a marvel of creation, perfectly drawn and fitted to create the most aerodynamic shape possible. This was why Pilots had to be strapped into their saddles during flight. At top speed, a Hebog would fly so fast that an untethered rider would be sent hurtling into empty space like a discarded toy.
She was so close now. Barely a body away. She could faintly see spirals of condensation rising from his nostrils, could see his small, round pupils contracting and expanding as he studied her in turn. The flow of blood from her nose was absolutely maddening and it took everything in her not to cry out from the pain of it. It soaked into her shirt and felt disgusting against her skin. She could taste the iron of it in her mouth.
If there was a moment of truth, this was it.
Closing her eyes, fighting the cloying sense of terror, Erin took a tiny, final step. She stretched her neck up towards him, offering her face like a servant displaying a meal. She was giving the animal her total faith, and could do nothing but hope for the same in return.
The silence lent a horrifying unpredictability to the situation. If he rejected her, she wouldn’t know until it was too late, until…
until…
a mighty caw…
the ferocious beat of enormous wings…
talons piercing her chest in an instant…
a wicked beak tearing her flesh from bone, faster than she could scream…
tickling her face…
what?
And she felt it, unbelievably, impossibly, a gentle tickling sensation on the very tip of her nose – where she hadn’t been scored by Tag’s talons. She opened her eyes and saw two huge, slanted dark pupils framed by chocolate irises gazing right back at her. The tip of his beak, as sharp as steel, gently brushed her face with clever carefulness.
And there she had it. Somehow, against all odds, she knew with a certainty that she had won it.
Trust.
At the moment, I'm working on an ongoing creative writing project. It's something very different for me, and involves a lot of world building - something I have little practice in. I would like to go on to write a much larger epic in this world, but at the minute I don't have the confidence in either myself or the world to start that. To build up that confidence, I've been working on a series of vignettes set in said world. The one you're about to read is the first one I wrote, and features one of my central characters - Erin ferch'Mari. As this is the first one I've written, there will undoubtedly be inconsistencies with later pieces. There is already a noticeable difference in tone in these earlier one-shots than in the things I'm writing at the moment, for example.
I would very, very much appreciate any feedback whatsoever; however harsh. I can only do so much to identify my own flaws and places of improvement without critique from others.
So, without further ado, here's:
Trust
Her blood tasted of warm metal.
It was curious – Erin had hurt herself before of course, being an adventurous child, but had never had blood in her mouth. Her blood.
Nor had she ever been injured quite so badly. Her legs and arms had been covered in all sorts of cuts and bruises throughout her short life – but this was a vicious gash, enough to leave a scar should she live long enough to bear it. It carved a small canyon from the upper bridge of her nose, just missing her right eye and scoring into her cheekbone. Blood burbled from the injury like a mountain brook, dripping down her face and splashing into the scalesand that covered the floor, staining it a deep red.
Tag leered darkly at her from across the pit. Her blood trickled also from his wickedly sharp talons. It soaked into his leg, turning the wrinkled, yellow skin to the brown of rust. He cocked his head and fluffed his feathers, all of his movements symbolising aggression. A milky third lid flicked over each of his eyes so fast she could barely see it.
As a male Hebog, he was the smaller gender of his species – next to little Erin the bird was a monster. At his full height, he stood over half a body taller than her, and at least ten times her width.
It would only take a single flap of his impressive wings for him to cross the room and crush her against the wall of the pit.
But just like her, he was scared. She could almost feel the fear emanating from both of them like a mist. To a bird, fear was a hindrance. To a Pilot – which she would be, if she survived this – it was a weapon. Adrenaline streamed down into her her limbs, flowing with the pain from her injury. It made her hyper-aware of her surroundings, of the stink of her own sweat and the crunch of the sand beneath her feet.
She grabbed onto that awareness with her mind, and took a single step across the sand.
The instant she began to move, he beat his wings at her. The wind generated nearly knocked her over. He opened a maw the colour of wilted lilac and let out a warning call – a terrifying shriek that echoed around the pit and grated on her ears like metal on metal. The very sound of it seemed to claw at the inside of her skull. A barely controllable urge rippled through her to fall to the floor in terror, clap her hands about her ears, and give up.
But if she gave up…
She thought about the fire of hope and jealousy that raged strong in her heart when she saw Pilots sailing through the sky, no longer limited by the boundaries of Hynafaidd’s back. She imagined herself as one of them, the wind whistling past her ears as she dived with her bird, bursting through the cloud barrier and seeing the unknowable bounty of the Untouchable Lands below.
This dream was not over for her. Not yet.
“Easy, boy.”
Tentatively, she raised her arms up in front of herself, almost pleading – like a veteran begging for alms. Her hands shook so fiercely they felt like they would pull her wrists right out of their sockets. Sweat dropped from one of her bangs and hit her eyelash, irritating her almost more than the pain from her cut, but through it all she kept her arms up, palms spread.
“It’s okay, beautiful! Oh, my beautiful boy, my beautiful bird. You wouldn’t hurt me, would you?”
Her voice sounded wobbly and so very, very small. The feathered beast lifted one talon out of the sand and set it down again in a small cloud of dust, cocking his head and opening his beak slightly – as if to say yes, actually, I would.
She took another step, still cooing gently and speaking to him as she would a babe (albeit a huge, deadly one). Soothing, but authoritative. He merely continued to eye her warily, but didn’t make any threatening movements, and she took that as a good sign.
As she approached him, it was impossible not to appreciate his beauty, even as she shook with fear. Tag was a viciously gorgeous bird.
His coat of feathers was streaked with fiery oranges and light, tawny browns. His beak was a shade of yellow so pale that it was almost white – except for the tip, which was the hard grey of stone and curved into a lethal hook. The line where his beak opened traced back into the bones of his skull, and even through the deceptively pretty fluff of his feathers she could make out the muscle definition that lay beneath. This was a predator, a living machine of speed and sinew – built purely to kill. And, Lord Below, it was her task to tame it.
“Easy, Tag. My beautiful bird. I’m not going to hurt you. I’d never hurt you.”
He parted his beak slightly and made a squawking noise, flexing his wings. Every single feather was a marvel of creation, perfectly drawn and fitted to create the most aerodynamic shape possible. This was why Pilots had to be strapped into their saddles during flight. At top speed, a Hebog would fly so fast that an untethered rider would be sent hurtling into empty space like a discarded toy.
She was so close now. Barely a body away. She could faintly see spirals of condensation rising from his nostrils, could see his small, round pupils contracting and expanding as he studied her in turn. The flow of blood from her nose was absolutely maddening and it took everything in her not to cry out from the pain of it. It soaked into her shirt and felt disgusting against her skin. She could taste the iron of it in her mouth.
If there was a moment of truth, this was it.
Closing her eyes, fighting the cloying sense of terror, Erin took a tiny, final step. She stretched her neck up towards him, offering her face like a servant displaying a meal. She was giving the animal her total faith, and could do nothing but hope for the same in return.
The silence lent a horrifying unpredictability to the situation. If he rejected her, she wouldn’t know until it was too late, until…
until…
a mighty caw…
the ferocious beat of enormous wings…
talons piercing her chest in an instant…
a wicked beak tearing her flesh from bone, faster than she could scream…
tickling her face…
what?
And she felt it, unbelievably, impossibly, a gentle tickling sensation on the very tip of her nose – where she hadn’t been scored by Tag’s talons. She opened her eyes and saw two huge, slanted dark pupils framed by chocolate irises gazing right back at her. The tip of his beak, as sharp as steel, gently brushed her face with clever carefulness.
And there she had it. Somehow, against all odds, she knew with a certainty that she had won it.
Trust.
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