The Boneyard *ON HOLD*

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Fjalar

The stallion peered wearily through the trees, the young man was washing in the creek. His broad, bare shoulders rippling powerfully as he pulled the shirt over his head, laying it carefully on a moss covered rock before splashing himself with the fresh water. Fjalar licked his dried and cracked lips, it was a bit like watching something vastly inappropriate, and he would have enjoyed it,  but he pushed the thought from his mind as hunger gnawed at his stomach; like a creature with small sharp claws, kneading them into the tender lining of his stomach, or perhaps walking  on pins and needles? He didn't know.

His face was still burning, and Fjalar could still feel the talons rake across his skin. Tossing his head wildly as he saw nothing but darkness from the left. The blindness felt so unreal, that it would be an easy fix. As easy as shaking his head to rid his eyes of their early morning bleariness. To the stallion's dismay, his efforts were useless and the blackness remained. Clicking his teeth in frustration Fjalar turned his attention back to the man in the stream. His perfectly tanned hide was tempting, and made Fjalar's mouth water just looking at it.

Enough. I said no more.

Fjalar snapped to himself, shaking his head and breaking his gaze from the man's back. Here he was, surrounded by nice lush grass and leaves, any horses' paradise, but the only thing he could think of was meat. The taste of flesh as it slid across his tongue, the warmth of the blood as it flooded his senses and warmed his belly.The slick slime of the innards beneath his hooves and the soothing squish of the blood seeping slowly into the earth like the humans' seasoned steak. Fjalar now understood why humans loved it so much. The taste. Oh the taste!

The thought produced a low nicker, and Fjalar edged his way forward, nearing the deliciously handsome human. The man looked up, and Fjalar saw how handsome he truly was. What a shame. His features were manly but delicate, two green eyes peering out from beneath a fringe of unruly blonde hair. The man swiveled slowly to get a good look at the stallion, sending a rushing wave of mouthwatering scent to Fjalar's nostrils, which flared slightly, drawing in the comforting scent of the man's beating heart.

"Easy there boy.. I'm not going to hurt you." The man said, creeping forward, his hand outstretched. Fjalar could see the desperation in his eyes, how the man almost ached to touch him, especially the state he was in.

Ladiesreally do appreciate the wounded soldier.

Fjalar thought with a smirk,cocking hishead and flicking his ears, pulling the ever classic 'I'm a poor horse, help me please' pleading puppy look. To his pleasure, the man fell for it, reaching out to brush Fjalar's muzzle with smooth, but callused fingers. The slender fingers worked their way up his face, brushing past the four sharp spires to scratch Fjalar along his poll.  

Starting with a gentle, but needy shove, Fjalar nosed the man in the ribs, letting the sweet scent of his flesh wash over his senses. The man chuckled, and for a moment Fjalar felt bad, but he responded with a sharper shove, pressing his horns to the man’s chest. The man shoved him back, so he only pushed harder, feeling the sharpened spires press through his skin, causing beads of blood to form on his bare stomach.

Come to me…

Fjalar purred quietly, shoving his head into the man’s gut. The green eyes went wide in shock, and he stared down to see the four spires buried deep into his stomach. Fjalar may have been thin and underweight, but he lifted his head in one clean sharp movement, forcing his horns through the flesh of the the poor man’s chest and once again back down to the gut.

The man’s eyes were wide with shock, as blood gushed from his gaping wounds. He tried his best to shove the stallion off him but it was hopeless. Fjalar plunged his spires into the man’s chest once more, this time they stuck and using all the strength he could muster, the black stallion shoved the man to the ground. He squirmed as Fjalar pushed him towards the water’s edge, his struggles becoming more and more fierce as he realized what the stallion had planned. Fjalar smiled crookedly;

Goodnight. Sweet dreams darling.

Without a second thought he swung his head forward, submerging the man beneath the rushing water. His muscular arms flailed as his lungs struggled for air, his hands grabbing at Fjalar’s neck, and stubby mane, but the stallion held his ground.

Tick tock, tick tock.

Eventually the man’s struggles weakened and his body went slack, fully supported by Fjalar’s head. With the utmost care, Fjalar lifted the man’s limp body from the stream and laid him carefully on the grassy bank. Raising his horned head, Fjalar scanned the river banks, the scent of another creature on the wind. Groaning inwardly, he speared the dead man’s chest once again and half carried, half dragged the muscular body to the shelter of a nearby clearing before digging into his meal.

Snuffling through the moist flesh, Fjalar ate greedily. There was something about how the still warm, but red blood glided over his tongue, and the way the tender meat squished between his teeth.  A rustling at the edge of the clearing brought his head up suddenly, tearing free  a piece of the small intestine in the process.

A young woman broke into the clearing, the wild, crazed look in her eyes, and the faint scent of blood caught Fjalar’s attention. He angled his head crookedly, staring at her from his one good eye, his nostrils flaring as he drew in her fear, and most importantly. The scent of her flesh.  

Fjalar hobbled forward, the injury to his hind leg was bothering him again, but that wouldn’t stop him from inspecting the fresh meat. He paused about halfway across the clearing, watching the girl again. She was tall and thin, had she not have been wearing ill fitted garments, Fjalar would have been able to see a delicate ribcage supporting most of her life, sheltering her fluttering heartbeat, and rapidly expanding lungs. Dark veins covered by tissue paper skin. Clearly, there was little meat left for him to scavenge.  It wasn’t worth it. With a flick of his ears Fjalar headed back to the carcass and returned to carving chunks of flesh loose with his horns.

The crash of the girl falling into the bushes and the sharp, sweet tang of blood broke Fjalar’s concentration. He whipped his head around. Blood. He could ignore the flesh, but it was the blood that got him. Tempting. His eyes narrowed and Fjalar lurched forward, breaking into a bumpy trot. He approached easily, the girl couldn’t get away, she was injured and for a moment Fjalar considered walking away. He’d never killed the weak before, never attacked those who couldn’t defend themselves. He towered over her, flecks of drool dribbling onto her battered legs, the heat radiating off her ankle was startling, at this rate if it wasn’t maintained she’d lose circulation by the following evening. Then he could return and claim his prize.