Elm lips angrily at her hair, now unbound when one of the hellhounds singed off her tie. Also, significantly shorter.
‘I could have handled that one,’ Elm snorts, the burst of air warm against the sweat cooling on her skin.
“It was in your blindspot,” Lark argues, rubbing pointedly but fondly at his forelock.
‘Still could have handled it,’ Elm refutes, giving one last ticklish lipping, before coming around in front of her and urging her on his back.
They look in the direction of where the three other hellhounds had been–before they were scooped up and taken away in some giant flying creature’s talons.
“Should… should we follow?” Lark asks, still so uncertain at being in control. For all that Elm has more experience in this lifestyle, he himself is not a knight.
‘Do we have to?’ Elm asks back, because they were going to set up camp before the hellhounds appeared, and now that the adrenaline is fading, he’s more tired not less.
“Well… it’s not tyranny,” Lark reasons absurdly, because she, too, is exhausted, “I mean… we’re not really at our best to take on whatever that was. Maybe tomorrow. In the morning. After some rest,” she says, uncertain.
Just as well: the decision is taken out of her hands when a massive shape–a somewhat familiar massive shape, for all that they had only seen it for a moment–descends in front of them.
Elm rears up on his hind legs, whinnies in warning, as Lark desperately tries to stay on.
‘What the hell is this?’ Elm shrieks in her mind, forelegs kicking at the air in protection of his rider.
“Language!” Lark shrieks back because the only other thing that comes to mind is: I have no idea.
A/N: Tiny thing and fifteen minutes late to boot–had a spontaneous outing with my cousins, only got back at 11:30. Have some more Lark and Elm stuff?
The series (if it becomes a series) will probably not actually be called Lark and Elm, but for now that will be my placeholder tag until I come up with a cooler title.