Andarin: The Mountains: To Krait-food; --

“We could always freeze the bits,” he continued rather reasonably as the snake uncoiled slowly but surely from his body. Snakecharmer, they called him; mosty for the lulz (considering Wyvern is outrageously gay), but it wasn’t that far from the truth. Ever since his element rippled through him, he’d had an affinity for snakes. “They’d stay fresh then. Wouldn’t matter much, though.”

Ah, innuendos.

And…

Dior?

Dior? Dior?! Do I look like a handbag to you?!, questioned the krait in his mind. That’s it, little pony, you’re lunch.

Oh, hush. You wouldn’t.

The murderous glee in his familiar’s mind-voice (try me!) said otherwise, though.

Not that he’d ever admit that.

“She hardly needs me to help her,” he shrugged, as the snake coiled around his limbs and rippled over. “She’s mean enough to defend herself.”

To the kid.

Who ran to hide behind him.

Bad choice, kiddo.

The krait, for his part, just swiveled and circled from the other side, counterclockwise. It yawned, and its fangs caught the light for one small moment.

“It doesn’t have to eat you to kill you, though,” he shrugged again.

The snake, unheeding, creeped closer.

“Not that it would.”

I totally would, said the krait in his mind, watch me! and lunged.

wyvern
yea, they shall say, earth's womb has borne in vain
new things, and never this best thing again;