tonight i'm so alone / this sorrow takes a hold

[impudentsongbird]

The mountain-lion was skittish. He leapt from rock to rock, ducked under the trees, peered through the foliage as if searching. His fur bristled with anxiety, the feeling of wrongness.

And there was something wrong. Something it couldn't comprehend. As if, when that human had touched him, it had shifted something--ruffled his fur all up the wrong way, and he couldn't get it to settle. And there was something else, too; something he couldn't quite remember which had happened at the same time. His instincts wondered why he let the humans go.

But mostly, there was something wrong, and the mountain-lion fled from being seen.

Comments

[impudentsongbird]

The Grace and emotions jarred with the lion's energy, scraping it raw like rubbing his fur the wrong way. It made him bristle, made a high-pitched whine rise in his throat, because it felt

wrong there's no hope can't be hope none left was angry isn't true just mistaken it's too late

and it hurt the way it tried to brush against him, hurt in a way that the lion couldn't quite define but--

Michael?

--was too much, far too much, even as gentle as Michael was being. The prolonged containment made the lion's panic spill over, and he shot sideways, leaping down among the rocks, toward the only possible remaining escape avenue--quickly closing between Merlin and Michael's forces. Whether he'd make it at all was debatable.