Peurankasvo

The sun was shining, there was a light breeze of around fifteen knots and the sea was mellow - it was the perfect weather for sailing a ship big and small, and one pirate ship was taking the most out of such perfect weather.“Barracuda, the wind’s escapin'! Heel the missus starboard!” Balthazar commanded, his boots knocking against the deck of the ship as he walked like a frolicking spring foal, full of excitement and ambition. Sharkbait felt no such feelings, as her gaze combed across the sea’s horizon over and over again. They were on a hunt, seeking one particular beast that had managed to catch captain Balthazar’s interest - that same aquatic beast that had caught Sharkbait’s leg. Even thinking about that wicked day made the amber dove feel phantom pain in her leg, stump, that was now but a wooden peg leg. She remembered those wide, wild eyes; rows of sharp teeth; that unrelenting force that had pulled her deeper towards the bottom of the sea; and those dark, wispy clouds of blood

[!! Contains some body horror] The air of the arena was rippling in heat, dark smoke rising out of cracks running across the ground. Thick lava was slowly flowing through the arena like tar, with bright colors of red, orange and yellow, bubbling and coughing up specks of molten rock and sparks. The air was so hot it was hard to breathe, hard to keep one’s eyes wide open without feeling like your eyeballs were either drying out or cooking like two eggs. It was the arena that was deadly this time, and one wrong step could be fatal - hells, even standing in a wrong place at a wrong time could be fatal, as being surprised by a rain of lava could easily end the game prematurely.  It was not the heat, or the lava, or the danger or the impending doom of the whole arena that caused fear in Plague though. She, they, felt no fear as long as they were commanded by their master - and why should they fear now, even amidst such danger, when it was their master, their lord, that had commanded them,

Trees and bushes swooshed past the cervine as he ran, branches hitting his face and body, cold mud and snow splashing on his legs and stomach. Joutsenpoika felt his muscles aching already as he forced himself to run faster, stinging pain screaming in his lungs, anxiety twisting tight knots in his stomach. Eir leapt over fallen tree trunks, landing on a thick puddle of water, mud and rotting leaves revealed under melting snow, almost slipping. He felt his ankle twist painfully.“Fuck!” Joutsenpoika exclaimed, hopping forward on three legs before he just kept on running despite the shooting pain in his ankle. The cervine panted heavily as he followed the now familiar route through the forest, across the village’s border. He felt like an idiot not realizing this would happen sooner or later. He knew this would happen at some point, but somehow the thought still had just slipped through the cervine’s mind. Joutsen knew the risks and he had neglected them completely - and now he felt

Mutt was fiddling his fingers, his whole body hardly staying still and mind barely being able to concentrate on throwing more wood in the campfire instead of across the whole camp. He was visibly nervous, but not the negative kind: no, the red wolf was so darn excited he was about to burst out of his hide. He kept glancing around, standing up and walking in circles, perking his ears and listening to his surroundings, even sniffing the air when a soft breeze hit his scarred face. And every time Mutt scolded himself, told himself to sit down and stop acting like a fool. And every time he would find himself jumping up just a few minutes later, tail wagging and eyes combing through the quiet forest. No luck yet, but Mutt was certain he wouldn’t need to wait for too long anymore. He might’ve told himself the same thing every hour, but truth to be told after Joutsenpoika had promised to return Mutt had completely forgotten the time of day the young cervine had mentioned. Or the day. It

A sprained ankle and hopping on three legs due to that said ankle was nothing new to Mutt, whose previous life had pretty much revolved around injuries – either his own, or those he had caused to others. For that very reason the red wolf wasn’t too concerned; if anything he was more embarrassed than worried, maybe even a tad bit amused. A gladiator like him, who had felled many foes put against him, got his ankle sprained by not paying attention while walking on some rocks. Rocks! Unmoving, unprovoked rocks that had not even been wet, so them being slippery was not a valid excuse either! In that moment when Mutt had noticed his balance going haywire and felt his ankle bent in quite an unnatural angle, a fleeting thought of missing his life in captivity had entered the wolf’s mind. Mutt would much rather have a foe stomp on his ankle than sprain it in this kind of stupid, careless way. With a heavy sigh Mutt finally reached his little hiding place. Immediately he slumped down on his