The fierce image Abigail is trying so hard to cultivate comes apart when it looks like she might have succeeded in turning the creature's attention her way. She falters, then lowers the sword and hikes up her skirts to run toward Raph, trusting him-
(have to trust him, trust him, Goddess... shoot NOW)
-to deal with the thing.
He does. The Stormwing crashes to the ground, arrow in its chest, as she skids to a stop beside Raph. Breathing heavily, she points the edge of the sword at it; the gesture seems appropriate.
"Too late." The beast chokes out a laugh, spittle and blood flying from its cracked lips. "Too late."
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2009-05-05 10:53 pm (UTC)(have to trust him, trust him, Goddess... shoot NOW)
-to deal with the thing.
He does. The Stormwing crashes to the ground, arrow in its chest, as she skids to a stop beside Raph. Breathing heavily, she points the edge of the sword at it; the gesture seems appropriate.
"Too late." The beast chokes out a laugh, spittle and blood flying from its cracked lips. "Too late."
Abigail shudders.