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04-14-2015, 07:26 PM
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With each dawn the boy grew stronger, more adventurous. With his other half perched on his rump he walked unafraid, with a stride that showed his heritage, even through the bumbling walk of a child. His newfound companion, nameless for the time, warbles and squawks as Hawke walks, and the boy grunts or snorts in return, their exchange mostly mental. Images and emotions flicker by, raw and unbridled, each knowing almost precisely what the other was going to say at the moment of it's thinking. The shadows grew long as they wandered, farther from their dam's side(for the chick could not help but believe the snow-mare his dam as well) than the previous day, and as the sun grew low Hawke's heart quickened, anticipating the tingling of his magic. It was the stench, of rot and decay, that first pulled Hawke's attention from the chick and back to the world around them. Under his feet dead insects crunched, and unperturbed the boy examined his hoof and the insect guts that splattered it. His chick chirruped, and the pair regarded the death around them, the wilted plants and dead or dying creatures, with calm eyes. They did not fully understand what was occurring, why things that should move were not. Nor did they understand it came from the mare nearby, the one that gnashed and pawed and stalked like a cat bound in a cage far too small for it. Hawke was the first of the pair to spot her, and in the growing twilight, the growing night, he approaches, carefully, for she is far larger than he, and does not look like his dam. The sun finally slips beneath the horizon, and the child's attention leaves the mare mid-stride. He watches as his own skin fades, then the muscles and organs, all with a fathomless curiosity. The owlet too watches, though worry is more his thoughts as his beloved changes beneath his tiny feet. A peep of concern, quickly banished by Hawke's disregard for the chick's worry. For the boy, this was utterly normal. In fact, he returned to looking at the skull-faced mare, waiting for her to change as well. She doesn't. He can't understand it. "Not change?" He asks, skeletal head tilting slightly, regarding the mare-not-mother with confusion. His sister did not change, but she brightened the world so that was fine. Mother did not change as well, but she was, as far as Hawke knew, an angel, so that would not make sense. This mare had a skull on her face, yet her body did not change. She was weird. @[Confutatis] |
