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06-06-2014, 08:53 PM
Happiness can be found, even in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light. Loneliness was a friend of no one, not even to the hunter that soared silently through the night skies. Bathed in moonlight, the world held an eire beauty; matched only by the grace of the hunter that flew through the grips of night. A pale light across the grassy plain of the meadow concealed the land in a magical washed-out colours and waiting patiently by some trees, veiled in shadows, stood Arah. Some might have thought her to be in a trance. On her chops was a tiny yet content smile while her eyes were softly closed, and every now and they she would gently sway to the left or right. In body she was on the ground, but her soul was Wynter as the griffin hunted, her stomach rumbled with hunger. Circling, her sharp eyes spotted a mouse on the ground. Hovering for only a moment, she flapped her wings once and then pulled them back into her body, spiralling wildly down to the ground; towards the mouse. The creature did not know what happened before it was already too late. Her claws gripped the body, wings spread and picked up body back up and away from the ground. Spotting a tree near by, the golden tipped griffin swept up onto one of the wider and thicker branches, ready to fest. Beak sank into the neck of the creature and warm blood swept over her tongue. Pulling out from Wynter's mind, Arah opened her own golden eyes to look upon the land once again. A gentle breeze rippled across the land, and in response the grass whispered secrets too quiet for her ears to make sense of. The taste of blood still sat in her mouth even though she had not been the one hunting. Perhaps the flavour was leaking through the bond, a drink would probably help wash the flavour out from her mouth. Remembering a stream that ran not too far ahead, Arah began to slowly make her way towards it, thinking back on what she had just witnessed. Wynter was becoming much more deadly and only at one month of age, she was independent and fierce. Younger than some, she was already showing signs that she would grow larger than most. A stick snapped under her hoof, she froze at the sound and glanced around wondering is she had just given her position up to a possible enemy. Ever since The Remige's treatment of herself and her family, Arah had taken to seeing enemies in the shadows. Shaking the shivers out from her coat, the doe pressed on towards the stream. It's bubbling reached her ears, following the sound Arah was only vaguely aware of Wynter landing beside her and continuing on foot beside her mistress. Pausing as figure emerged in the distance, one was drinking from the stream and the other appeared to (probably) be a bonded creature watching his master's back. A gentle breeze blew a mixture of scents over to Arah and suddenly the doe was frozen. Every joint in body body locked up expect her eyes; they grew wide studying the form that was shining in the moonlight. Wynter sensed her mistress' distress, spreading her wings and taking flight, the griffin prepared to attack the threat. 'Uimh! Ná iad a ionsaí.' Wynter ceased in her attack but kept her sharp gaze on the stallion and the hound. After all this time, she could not believe that he was alive. After her did not return to The Basin, she had thought that the darkness had claimed him. The grieving process had been difficult, waiting in the clutched of The Regime wondering about him had been the worst. Her face crumpled in mistrust, eyes narrowed in suspicion. Perhaps this was a trick, an illusion made by the moonlight. Approaching the stallion who she had once trusted, disgust quickly painted her features. He did not look like himself, instead she could see death's hand reaching up and touching him. Tendrils of darkness swirled behind him, they had gathered in his wake, whispering to her. His skin was covered puss-filled boils which made her stomach roll. Being careful to keep distance between them, Arah finally came to a stop. She did not was to catch whatever he had and pass it off to their girls. "Crowley?" Her hymn was gentle and encouraging. "Máthair déan trócaire." 'Save us all.' |
And I ain't afraid to die, I’m afraid of going to hell.
✽ Force and magic permitted. ✽
✽ No fatal or permanent damage. ✽
✽ Please only tag in opening posts. ✽
✽ Force and magic permitted. ✽
✽ No fatal or permanent damage. ✽
✽ Please only tag in opening posts. ✽
