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Description
A quick warm-up piece for Gogreendreamer123 ! Nothing great, and I did have to improvise and add some bits of my own, but I'm otherwise pretty proud of this. Could've gone on, but I have other things to work on. Hope you at least like the surprise.

Also relates to Whimsical-Prison
Griahn, Baran, and bloody mountain goat belong to
goddamned stick-bearing ferret belongs to
diabolical dog belongs to
cursed reptile belongs to

Word Count: 514

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Griahn paused, suspended far above the golden landscape of Solace. Flapping their wings to keep themself that way, they angled their ears; a profound rumble reverberated in the distance, trembling the terrain in its proximity, and struck their heart. They silenced a grumble spawning in their chest and picked themself up. Liquid suspicion pooled in their stomach, and it was with prudence with which they set off. Although rockslides were a rarity in the Solace World, and they doubted its origin was natural, Griahn had to make certain no residents had been injured in the fall.

The sound led the Finscéal to a cave—it seemed fitting. Plenty of rocks and ledges, and, perhaps, it wasn’t foul play at all. But, then, they smelled it. Promptly, they froze. Blood. Powerful blood. Familiar blood. The suspicion was chilled into ice.

Baran was in there. There was no doubt in her mind. No other Finscéal had any reason to be in her cave. Baran was in there, and he was hurt.

Without any more hesitation, Griahn forced her way through an entrance. She glanced around less than briefly at the wreckage. “Baran?” was both birthed and slaughtered on her lips as she saw.

She surged forward, throwing her head downward and snapping up a cruel boulder. It about toppled in her iron-cold grasp as she heedlessly flung it far away from her poor, poor baby. She tirelessly tried to continue the endeavor before she painfully noted removing anymore would cause the pile to only give and crush him more. With a heaving gasp of a breath, she dropped her head, nuzzling him softly. “Baran,” she whispered. “Baran, it’s time to go, but you need to help me.” No response. She nudged him. “Come on. We have to go.” Dead silence. “Baran?” Her bunt received no acknowledgment— no joking laugh, no quirky grin, no adoring simper. His eyes lolled loosely in his head as she nestled under him and tried raising his head. His jaw met the floor with a sick thud, his lids falling dead and revealing only slivers of his formerly animated eyes.

Griahn’s heart stopped. Everything stopped. Forget the breaking. Her heart was being torn by rusty prongs, sinking in leisurely and then ripping—

“Iil suurlook-oon beeaa!”

Griahn jerked up. It all came back, but it was in a rush. Her breathing was forced and labored, the remnants of her heart pounding blood in her ears, her limbs once trunks wavering and shaking. She snapped her head back, whipping around.

Them. The cursed reptile, the bloody mountain goat, the diabolical dog, the goddamned, stick-bearing, weaseling ferret.

“YOU!” she roared, and it came from the pits of her soul without her consent. But she had no problem as the frigid mass in her stomach sublimated with ire. Fury as she had never known it coursed through her, replacing anything that belonged in her vessels. Sincere wrath pushed her forward, making her rear upward and poise her talons high as the fucking feradog trembled beneath her.

And she had no problem as she brought it down.

Description
A quick warm-up piece for Gogreendreamer123 ! Nothing great, and I did have to improvise and add some bits of my own, but I'm otherwise pretty proud of this. Could've gone on, but I have other things to work on. Hope you at least like the surprise.

Also relates to Whimsical-Prison
Griahn, Baran, and bloody mountain goat belong to
goddamned stick-bearing ferret belongs to
diabolical dog belongs to
cursed reptile belongs to

Word Count: 514

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Griahn paused, suspended far above the golden landscape of Solace. Flapping their wings to keep themself that way, they angled their ears; a profound rumble reverberated in the distance, trembling the terrain in its proximity, and struck their heart. They silenced a grumble spawning in their chest and picked themself up. Liquid suspicion pooled in their stomach, and it was with prudence with which they set off. Although rockslides were a rarity in the Solace World, and they doubted its origin was natural, Griahn had to make certain no residents had been injured in the fall.

The sound led the Finscéal to a cave—it seemed fitting. Plenty of rocks and ledges, and, perhaps, it wasn’t foul play at all. But, then, they smelled it. Promptly, they froze. Blood. Powerful blood. Familiar blood. The suspicion was chilled into ice.

Baran was in there. There was no doubt in her mind. No other Finscéal had any reason to be in her cave. Baran was in there, and he was hurt.

Without any more hesitation, Griahn forced her way through an entrance. She glanced around less than briefly at the wreckage. “Baran?” was both birthed and slaughtered on her lips as she saw.

She surged forward, throwing her head downward and snapping up a cruel boulder. It about toppled in her iron-cold grasp as she heedlessly flung it far away from her poor, poor baby. She tirelessly tried to continue the endeavor before she painfully noted removing anymore would cause the pile to only give and crush him more. With a heaving gasp of a breath, she dropped her head, nuzzling him softly. “Baran,” she whispered. “Baran, it’s time to go, but you need to help me.” No response. She nudged him. “Come on. We have to go.” Dead silence. “Baran?” Her bunt received no acknowledgment— no joking laugh, no quirky grin, no adoring simper. His eyes lolled loosely in his head as she nestled under him and tried raising his head. His jaw met the floor with a sick thud, his lids falling dead and revealing only slivers of his formerly animated eyes.

Griahn’s heart stopped. Everything stopped. Forget the breaking. Her heart was being torn by rusty prongs, sinking in leisurely and then ripping—

“Iil suurlook-oon beeaa!”

Griahn jerked up. It all came back, but it was in a rush. Her breathing was forced and labored, the remnants of her heart pounding blood in her ears, her limbs once trunks wavering and shaking. She snapped her head back, whipping around.

Them. The cursed reptile, the bloody mountain goat, the diabolical dog, the goddamned, stick-bearing, weaseling ferret.

“YOU!” she roared, and it came from the pits of her soul without her consent. But she had no problem as the frigid mass in her stomach sublimated with ire. Fury as she had never known it coursed through her, replacing anything that belonged in her vessels. Sincere wrath pushed her forward, making her rear upward and poise her talons high as the fucking feradog trembled beneath her.

And she had no problem as she brought it down.