Articus-Wolfe

It was a good thing he bought that bag in the market when he had the chance. There wouldn’t always be an over affectionate yak hanging around him pleading for fruits to do the dirty work of heavy lifting. The villagers were kind enough to offer fuel and alcohol for Lan’geres’ makeshift spirit bombs, though granted they were driving away a literal giant from trampling on decades old homes. With the last few of the bottles whisked up and placed snug against his harness bag, the two were stocked up on supplies for their next giant redirection. “It’s sad that we have to burn its leaves again,” Cirrus murmured with nothing on hand as certified distraction bait. “What’s sad is how that thing won’t go down no matter how many of us take it down or how many times we’ve burnt it alive,” Lan’geres shuddered at the memory of their past half a dozen attempts. “Well, yeah, but we can at least nibble on the leaves a bit before burning it, right?” “Nibble your head,” the Canine softly chops the

The cold wind and abrasive friction battle each other as Cirrus holds a death grip onto The Giant. A sudden kick of its hind legs leaves every muscle on the Cervine’s hands limp from the sudden momentum. Mind blank with sheer adrenaline rushing through tells the last brain cell of his head to bite onto The Giant’s rooted body as a last ditch effort to stay on. Cirrus can hear Lan’geres calling for him somewhere on the ground. “I’m fine!” He yells back, or attempts to anyway. It ended more as a mouthful of slobber drooling down his jaw and a tongue full of splinters from coming in contact with the lignin skin of The Giant. “WHAT’D I SAY ABOUT TALKING WITH YOUR MOUTH FULL AND PUTTING INEDIBLE THINGS IN IT,” watching the hooved centaur dangle from above as they evade the dancing steps of The Giant only served to further the Canine’s headache. Paw pads growing sore, Lan’geres stood still, rubbing his temples and only for just a passing moment – hoping The Giant would just crush him