If his power's still magic, it's little compared to the burst of strength his student's drawn from name only, feeling its warmth in an instant.
He's keeping the boots on. One more gift still to treasure. Though he can't meet his eyes at all, there's soft squeeze to veiled shoulder, Shoto too reaching back for him, his brushing passing along his "armor" spells, returning him quick, subtle magics. Two ghosts on a mission now... One marveling up at overgrowth, both like children beneath its wide stretch of shadows, so much smaller than ancient woods grow, than their bowing roots seem at first.
Once they're well through thick forest, he's leaning too to pick up on things. The squire's cold a near-constant, freezing air in tell-tale sign and stifled breath clouding over again; then, crackle of frost-lace as he readies, dry ice drawing across his cheeks again. With barely a whisper, raised on toes to spring forward, he leaves with murmuring reassurance, eyes on his targets before his speaking drifts back to him.] Leave it to me. [Just with that, wispy ghost slipping off again, their three-to-one odds the ones he's used to, his icefloes sweeping up the first fae, pushing him off behind a treeline—a wash of earthstone and ice-glass. Kasha pouncing atop the next and having swelled to his fullest height; fiery, blistering 8-foot monster now. Shoto himself surprising the last; silently chasing him a ways first, pinning body against a tree next, an overwhelming rush of crystal surging up as sharp binding. Then, palm pressed to opened jaw, ice in his moonstone sealing a mouth and Shoto's own voice a breath still, keeping the fae muted.]
Is this really worth your life? You should try living honestly. [Soft admonishment, then, quiet, hissing under breath within feral-cat's earshot,]
Kasha! [Narrowing eyes to him, knowing exactly he means to do. A man-sized paw depressing a face down, cheek to dirt to mute the whining, stuck fae trapped beneath him.] Don't. [Offering little shake of head here.] Don't eat him. [Rotten corpse-cat...! His human's making his way to stop him, sort of pushing against his monster, rough pulling tugging his victim free.] He's still alive right now. [Scolding him lightly. And, despite the obvious squirming protest, he's closing wrists in rust's trappings, clustering spells to circle limbs before he's bound them in earth-metals. Once accomplished, dragging wriggling, would-be-ribbons into a further wood's darkness, sealing him cold against a tree's roots. This one, too, gagged with ice spells.
Then immediately, soft voice seeking Hijikata, scanning dark and woods both, now; not quite calling out for him.]
Sensei? [Still a whisper, eyes sweeping dusk blindly. Even with bare hint of lighting, the squire's path's in parts crumbling, small steps trailing his own fragile ice bits, a skeletal frame snapping off of him. His movement's wraith-like. Slower.] They shouldn't be breaking out anytime soon here. We should hurry before the frostbite sets.
[Mind on the next ones; but then, he means to work quickly, to leave the swordsman as little trouble as his brute strength allows for. Fingers idly brushing sword's hilt, Kasha his shrinking, golden flames again, claiming his shoulders.]
We got lucky this time...
[Even with weapon's reassurance, increasingly anxious of what's ahead of them; afraid to lose sight of a man he can't see.]
no subject
If his power's still magic, it's little compared to the burst of strength his student's drawn from name only, feeling its warmth in an instant.
He's keeping the boots on. One more gift still to treasure. Though he can't meet his eyes at all, there's soft squeeze to veiled shoulder, Shoto too reaching back for him, his brushing passing along his "armor" spells, returning him quick, subtle magics. Two ghosts on a mission now... One marveling up at overgrowth, both like children beneath its wide stretch of shadows, so much smaller than ancient woods grow, than their bowing roots seem at first.
Once they're well through thick forest, he's leaning too to pick up on things. The squire's cold a near-constant, freezing air in tell-tale sign and stifled breath clouding over again; then, crackle of frost-lace as he readies, dry ice drawing across his cheeks again. With barely a whisper, raised on toes to spring forward, he leaves with murmuring reassurance, eyes on his targets before his speaking drifts back to him.] Leave it to me. [Just with that, wispy ghost slipping off again, their three-to-one odds the ones he's used to, his icefloes sweeping up the first fae, pushing him off behind a treeline—a wash of earthstone and ice-glass. Kasha pouncing atop the next and having swelled to his fullest height; fiery, blistering 8-foot monster now. Shoto himself surprising the last; silently chasing him a ways first, pinning body against a tree next, an overwhelming rush of crystal surging up as sharp binding. Then, palm pressed to opened jaw, ice in his moonstone sealing a mouth and Shoto's own voice a breath still, keeping the fae muted.]
Is this really worth your life? You should try living honestly. [Soft admonishment, then, quiet, hissing under breath within feral-cat's earshot,]
Kasha! [Narrowing eyes to him, knowing exactly he means to do. A man-sized paw depressing a face down, cheek to dirt to mute the whining, stuck fae trapped beneath him.] Don't. [Offering little shake of head here.] Don't eat him. [Rotten corpse-cat...! His human's making his way to stop him, sort of pushing against his monster, rough pulling tugging his victim free.] He's still alive right now. [Scolding him lightly. And, despite the obvious squirming protest, he's closing wrists in rust's trappings, clustering spells to circle limbs before he's bound them in earth-metals. Once accomplished, dragging wriggling, would-be-ribbons into a further wood's darkness, sealing him cold against a tree's roots. This one, too, gagged with ice spells.
Then immediately, soft voice seeking Hijikata, scanning dark and woods both, now; not quite calling out for him.]
Sensei? [Still a whisper, eyes sweeping dusk blindly. Even with bare hint of lighting, the squire's path's in parts crumbling, small steps trailing his own fragile ice bits, a skeletal frame snapping off of him. His movement's wraith-like. Slower.] They shouldn't be breaking out anytime soon here. We should hurry before the frostbite sets.
[Mind on the next ones; but then, he means to work quickly, to leave the swordsman as little trouble as his brute strength allows for. Fingers idly brushing sword's hilt, Kasha his shrinking, golden flames again, claiming his shoulders.]
We got lucky this time...
[Even with weapon's reassurance, increasingly anxious of what's ahead of them; afraid to lose sight of a man he can't see.]
Security might be tight up ahead.