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en natt så kall och månen den var klar
[ Sorry for the wait! @[Brisa] and @[Cirrus] ]
I hear the silence of the children who sang.
If you disregarded the fact that he crept up on a warrior-princess, a mare determined to better her life, and two children, it seemed an oddly appropriate response, that shift in atmosphere—how even the sun seemed to grow colder, shadowed over by something large, and pale. Mauja's presence always seemed to turn things to ice.
But no matter how much his rather dramatic, self-loathing heart wanted to attribute the change to some demonic qualities of his existence, he knew that the truth was simpler. He was unknown, a threat, something lurking in the forest, perhaps a winter wolf threatening to gnaw his way into the foals' chests and close his jaws on their warm, beating hearts—
Too young to rebel, the children returned to Brisa, to hide behind her, shepherded together. Hers, then, he concluded. But who was the father?
For once he's not got leopard spots.
The other mare—Cirrus, his mind filled in all of a sudden, clouds moving through the body of an exuberant foal, guarded by the serene, graceful Cassiopeia, from a time when Irma had not yet been retrieved—seemed more brazen. More bold. Why they did not see him, he didn't know; did the shadows and the leaves break up his white and the spots? True, his own field of vision was rather narrow through the sparse forest, but he had not intended to.. to hide so well. Maybe, some small part of him had wanted to be spotted, called out, brought into the light. He ground his teeth together and sighed, nearly soundless. Simply by the off-chance that they did not see him, he'd become the devil again, and the blackness in his soul reared its head, hissed, said, be the monster they want you to be.
"Who are you?"
He swallowed the words in silence. They tasted of rot and bile, and he made a face at the tree before slowly sliding out from behind it—cold in his insecurity, guarded and masked, pale eyes hard and relentless. She stood pointing something at him. It looked decidedly sharp, like some kind of.. horn.
Was it a horn? Had she somehow broken it off some unicorn's skull? Psyche came, unbidden, to his mind—but this didn't look like hers. This.. well, he didn't exactly get the best look at it because of the angle, but the suspicion struck a spark in him. Cassiopeia had, after all, always seemed a bit arrogant.
He didn't know where the sudden tide of barely contained anger came from.
"Cirrus," he greeted her coolly, slowly sweeping out from the surroundings and into plain sight. His gaze moved from the threatening mare and onto the other. "And Brisa." If it wasn't for her—for the mare he'd saved from certain, slow death, the mare he wanted to give hope, the mare whose brittle strength he did not want to ruin—his lips would've curved into a sneer, and he would've asked, how's your mother?.
Because last time he'd seen her, she'd been a prisoner of the Basin.
If you disregarded the fact that he crept up on a warrior-princess, a mare determined to better her life, and two children, it seemed an oddly appropriate response, that shift in atmosphere—how even the sun seemed to grow colder, shadowed over by something large, and pale. Mauja's presence always seemed to turn things to ice.
But no matter how much his rather dramatic, self-loathing heart wanted to attribute the change to some demonic qualities of his existence, he knew that the truth was simpler. He was unknown, a threat, something lurking in the forest, perhaps a winter wolf threatening to gnaw his way into the foals' chests and close his jaws on their warm, beating hearts—
Too young to rebel, the children returned to Brisa, to hide behind her, shepherded together. Hers, then, he concluded. But who was the father?
For once he's not got leopard spots.
He pushed the thoughts of Sialia and that day out of his mind.
The other mare—Cirrus, his mind filled in all of a sudden, clouds moving through the body of an exuberant foal, guarded by the serene, graceful Cassiopeia, from a time when Irma had not yet been retrieved—seemed more brazen. More bold. Why they did not see him, he didn't know; did the shadows and the leaves break up his white and the spots? True, his own field of vision was rather narrow through the sparse forest, but he had not intended to.. to hide so well. Maybe, some small part of him had wanted to be spotted, called out, brought into the light. He ground his teeth together and sighed, nearly soundless. Simply by the off-chance that they did not see him, he'd become the devil again, and the blackness in his soul reared its head, hissed, said, be the monster they want you to be.
"Who are you?"
The most bitter bastard you'll ever meet.
He swallowed the words in silence. They tasted of rot and bile, and he made a face at the tree before slowly sliding out from behind it—cold in his insecurity, guarded and masked, pale eyes hard and relentless. She stood pointing something at him. It looked decidedly sharp, like some kind of.. horn.
Was it a horn? Had she somehow broken it off some unicorn's skull? Psyche came, unbidden, to his mind—but this didn't look like hers. This.. well, he didn't exactly get the best look at it because of the angle, but the suspicion struck a spark in him. Cassiopeia had, after all, always seemed a bit arrogant.
He didn't know where the sudden tide of barely contained anger came from.
"Cirrus," he greeted her coolly, slowly sweeping out from the surroundings and into plain sight. His gaze moved from the threatening mare and onto the other. "And Brisa." If it wasn't for her—for the mare he'd saved from certain, slow death, the mare he wanted to give hope, the mare whose brittle strength he did not want to ruin—his lips would've curved into a sneer, and he would've asked, how's your mother?.
Because last time he'd seen her, she'd been a prisoner of the Basin.
But he didn't want to be that anymore. So why was it suddenly at the forefront of his mind, barely concealed by the thin, flimsy veils of ice and snow?
Se dem brinna över verkan se dem dansa framför bål
Se dem mässa inför satan se dem smida sina stål
Se dem mässa inför satan se dem smida sina stål
