[Once, Hayame had prided herself on being more “human” than the bestial members of her kind, reduced to animals and spear fodder by the sickly simple act of flensing off the arms at the shoulder. She used the weapons that humans did, she did not fight with desperate tooth and nail and hoof and kicks like the increasingly dwindling population of jinba born free in the deep mountains. She’d been cold and collected and precise-
But it wasn’t just her icy doppelgängers that had died since she left the only world that made sense to her. Every month spent in a place that she continued to reject, amongst people she largely felt alienated from, encountering magic and happening beyond the scope of what she’d always imagined possible… the woman who’d been able to conceal her true nature had been stripped away time and time again to reveal the worst of her beneath. Before they had been enslaved, before humans realized the power they held last of numbers and tools, jinba had been worshipped as gods, as powerful forces of nature-
And that’s what slams into the copy of Amos now. Bones crack, hooves slip on the slick cold of of them hall floor, and they go skidding, tumbling over the ice in a knot of limbs and muscle and snarling viciousness. Just her weight is enough to injure or kill when brought to bear, either in an intentional kick or an accidental fall, and so on the ground, even frosted, the advantage is overwhelmingly hers, it might be considered pathetic for a human to try, even one as physically tough as Amos-
And then they’re weightless. The split second of confusion as her world turns tipsy turvy is enough for the doppelgänger to find purchase on her thrash of limbs and grappling arms. She feels a wrench, a finger bends and snaps, it goes for a more delicate foreleg-
No, there was no time nor mind for words in the important, frantic first moments, the struggle for the upper hand in a situation whether both parties wanted to kill the other. If a part of her thought to save that honor for Amos himself, it would have to bank on hope… because Hayame can’t find the real Amos in the tumble through the air and she also doesn’t hold back. A hand finds purchase and pushes against a forehead, slamming with the heel of her damaged hand, her legs flail to keep it from finding a space close enough to brace and twist, and the sharp, sharp teeth in her mouth that don’t seem to match well with either human or equine features…
Those dig in and rip, coming away with a gush of blood and the tattered scraps of an ear.]
no subject
But it wasn’t just her icy doppelgängers that had died since she left the only world that made sense to her. Every month spent in a place that she continued to reject, amongst people she largely felt alienated from, encountering magic and happening beyond the scope of what she’d always imagined possible… the woman who’d been able to conceal her true nature had been stripped away time and time again to reveal the worst of her beneath. Before they had been enslaved, before humans realized the power they held last of numbers and tools, jinba had been worshipped as gods, as powerful forces of nature-
And that’s what slams into the copy of Amos now. Bones crack, hooves slip on the slick cold of of them hall floor, and they go skidding, tumbling over the ice in a knot of limbs and muscle and snarling viciousness. Just her weight is enough to injure or kill when brought to bear, either in an intentional kick or an accidental fall, and so on the ground, even frosted, the advantage is overwhelmingly hers, it might be considered pathetic for a human to try, even one as physically tough as Amos-
And then they’re weightless. The split second of confusion as her world turns tipsy turvy is enough for the doppelgänger to find purchase on her thrash of limbs and grappling arms. She feels a wrench, a finger bends and snaps, it goes for a more delicate foreleg-
No, there was no time nor mind for words in the important, frantic first moments, the struggle for the upper hand in a situation whether both parties wanted to kill the other. If a part of her thought to save that honor for Amos himself, it would have to bank on hope… because Hayame can’t find the real Amos in the tumble through the air and she also doesn’t hold back. A hand finds purchase and pushes against a forehead, slamming with the heel of her damaged hand, her legs flail to keep it from finding a space close enough to brace and twist, and the sharp, sharp teeth in her mouth that don’t seem to match well with either human or equine features…
Those dig in and rip, coming away with a gush of blood and the tattered scraps of an ear.]