He darts and swoops neatly around, all wild and ready to cut it off when
it isn't feathered anymore.
Bitey knows roars. Bitey knows roars. That's all the Morrugs do, the big stupid lumbering things, is roar roar roar at him like that'll ever drive him off. This thing isn't a Morrug, whatever it is. It's big and furred and stripey, and the roar might send him arcing over the treetops to land with a clatter some distance away, but it doesn't scare him off. Not completely.
Nothing can catch him. Not even furry stripey things.
Wicked-quick, Bitey tears a long wet strip of moss from the nearest tree and balls it up into a wet messy bundle, then flings it at the thing's nose with an experimental flick of his wrist.
no subject
it isn't feathered anymore.
Bitey knows roars. Bitey knows roars. That's all the Morrugs do, the big stupid lumbering things, is roar roar roar at him like that'll ever drive him off. This thing isn't a Morrug, whatever it is. It's big and furred and stripey, and the roar might send him arcing over the treetops to land with a clatter some distance away, but it doesn't scare him off. Not completely.
Nothing can catch him. Not even furry stripey things.
Wicked-quick, Bitey tears a long wet strip of moss from the nearest tree and balls it up into a wet messy bundle, then flings it at the thing's nose with an experimental flick of his wrist.