Post by Seek on May 28, 2011 3:52:25 GMT 10
Title: Basilisk 4
Rating: PG
Word count: 280
Pairing: Clary/Mattes
Round/Fight: 4/A
Summary: Part of the Open Ends series. Mattes is up against the Basilisk.
WARNING: Violence.
-
He hears me coming.
I am coiled, wound-up like a spring, and when he turns his back, I lunge across the room, throwing myself at him. But Ikran hears me coming, and he turns and a wave of fear strikes me, so intensely that I can’t breathe, can barely hold on to the dagger in my hand.
I’m afraid. I’m afraid. (Fear magic, Ikran is skilled with fear magic. He hurt Clary.)
My heart is pounding, and my breathing is heavy and harsh. I can’t focus on Ikran, or his Gift manifesting at last in bright venomous-green fire. His dark eyes are looking at me, and at his gaze…I am afraid. I can’t cling to the image of Clary, not in this kind of fear. I can’t do anything. I was a cracknob to try. What can a lone Dog do against a mage?
I don’t realise I’m still holding on to the dagger, so tight my hand might as well be bleeding. I don’t realise I’m fumbling with my free hand, making the sign, the way my grandfather taught me.
Like this for the earth, he is saying in Hurdik, older, more experienced fingers passing through the motions I am struggling to make. Let the dust of your fathers protect you. Let the breath of your fathers guide you. Let the eyes of your fathers watch over you. Dust, breath, and spirit.
I am thinking of Clary as the fear lifts – as I almost chew through my lip as Gift-fire burns me, but I am unstoppable and I think about what Ikran has done to Clary as my lips peel back in a smile and I slit his throat.
Rating: PG
Word count: 280
Pairing: Clary/Mattes
Round/Fight: 4/A
Summary: Part of the Open Ends series. Mattes is up against the Basilisk.
WARNING: Violence.
-
He hears me coming.
I am coiled, wound-up like a spring, and when he turns his back, I lunge across the room, throwing myself at him. But Ikran hears me coming, and he turns and a wave of fear strikes me, so intensely that I can’t breathe, can barely hold on to the dagger in my hand.
I’m afraid. I’m afraid. (Fear magic, Ikran is skilled with fear magic. He hurt Clary.)
My heart is pounding, and my breathing is heavy and harsh. I can’t focus on Ikran, or his Gift manifesting at last in bright venomous-green fire. His dark eyes are looking at me, and at his gaze…I am afraid. I can’t cling to the image of Clary, not in this kind of fear. I can’t do anything. I was a cracknob to try. What can a lone Dog do against a mage?
I don’t realise I’m still holding on to the dagger, so tight my hand might as well be bleeding. I don’t realise I’m fumbling with my free hand, making the sign, the way my grandfather taught me.
Like this for the earth, he is saying in Hurdik, older, more experienced fingers passing through the motions I am struggling to make. Let the dust of your fathers protect you. Let the breath of your fathers guide you. Let the eyes of your fathers watch over you. Dust, breath, and spirit.
I am thinking of Clary as the fear lifts – as I almost chew through my lip as Gift-fire burns me, but I am unstoppable and I think about what Ikran has done to Clary as my lips peel back in a smile and I slit his throat.