R i c o c h e t,

He was not a stallion inclined to words crafted of lusty heat and words brittle as ice, but rather a man who was carved of stone with eyes hard; teal eyes unforgiving and judgmental, but not cold eyes.

His eyes were blue fire, and their shadows cast long black fingers over his face.

From the forest Ricochet withdrew, a smear of buttery cream that glistened on the forest jade and emerald, with a wild tangled mane of ebony that drifted, knots twisting and brushed by the breeze. At his feet came his follower, all soft black fur and pristine white collar, bright, hungry brown eyes and lolling pink tongue, hindquarters swaying as a plume of a tail wagged, casting sinister black shapes on the ground painted gold with the light of the setting sun.

They moved in union, two figures that were almost silent among the trees, but for the Incendiary’s occasional foul-mouthed curse.

The birds sang, weaving their simplistic and utterly maddening songs, chirping and twittering as the couple passed beneath the branches they rested on. One passed a soft wet dropping onto the leaf mold beside the stallion, and with a snort of disgust, he moved away. He was not a silver-tongue, nor a jaded man; he was warrior, through and through, and he loved life best with a gun in his hand and bullets shattering the air, his dog howling and the twist and ache of battered muscles; all this recruiting fooled with his mind, learning to banter with a weapon he had never used to learn, for all his training- the tongue. Silk words did not come easily to him, and neither did gilded praises that could convince idiots to live under his banner and suckle from his figurative tits.

“Fuck, Guns. Fuck.” The stallion declared, his voice weighted with an un-decipherable emotion. Ahead of him, his dog trotted confidently, occasionally pausing to urinate on a bush and stain the dry earth wet with his acidic yellow piss. Even worse than that acrid sense, sometimes the daft dog shoved his nose into all sorts of foul things only a hound would think to dig up.

Ricochet snorted. He would get no sympathy from his ludicrously useless collie.

By the name of Nieque, where had all the equines gone? Surely all the horses that were somewhat serviceable had not just disappeared or died in Isilme? It hadn’t been long since Gunslinger’s death that the buttermilk boy had begun to realize relying on others was not quite the good idea it had once appeared. They always seemed to vanish right when you needed them most- so he taught himself to fight even better, as he always did when he was filled with a boiling frustration.

His teal eyes flick up from the soil, his hooves’ muffled thuds echoing in his ears.
There is a scent lingering in the air.
Fresh meat.

Guns, too, sniffs it out with his wet black nose, giving out a short, sharp bark and tipping his ears forward, eyes gleaming with a vivacious light. “Go, Guns, find ‘em.” His master calls, and with a wag of his tail, the dog disappears.

Only a minute or two later, they come in on the scene, Guns dropping back before they come across him, hiding in the shadow of Ricochet.

There is a woman, not of voluptuous curves but of big fawn eyes that gleam auburn, all eloquency and thin lines, drawn so gracefully it is as if she could hardly live; she is a wisp, an autumn ghost, with a face that shines white as bone, gold rings in her ears that flash and gleam in the rich light of the setting sun. For a long moment he stares, rudely so; bold Ricochet, almost at a loss for words. He didn’t even fucking know there could be horses like this, made of bird-bones and legs so slender it looks as if she might shatter at a touch. And facing her is a stallion that is grotesque next to her avian-like beauty. He is stone-gray grown mossy, all thick bones and hefty brawn, covered in admirable scars and with verdant eyes that are carved deep into his silver face.

“Ricochet the Incendiary, and the dog here is Guns. And I bet I can give you better than what he offers- and more, if you’re looking for a bit of extra.”
His lips curl into a smile that promises.