chainsaws

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She opens her jaw and leans towards you like a shark, without thinking you jerk your head forward in a desperate headbutt. Last ditch, pathetic, all you have are the muscles in your neck. The angle was wrong. A sharp flower of pain blooms in your forehead and circuits behind your eyes up to the root of your damaged horn—and she doesn’t even let go. By the time you’ve blinked your eyes open her breath is harsh in her throat, and she’s fisted her claws in your hair. “I don’t want to hurt you,” she rasps. “You’re going to kill me.” Your voice is tight, shaking.

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