The hunter and his companion choose to remain in the threshold forest a little while longer. It is exhaustion that first leads the pair to shut their eyes and rest, and hunger that drags their lids from shadow. Manhattan has awoken before Knox, and returned with expertly hunted game, as always. When Knox wakes he finds one rabbit at his forehooves, cleanly killed, and turns his blue eyes to see another between and beneath Manhattan's paws.

The retriever tears at the flesh, fresh red blood staining her paws and pale, downy fur catching in the slight breeze. The limbs of the rabbit are splayed and bent back; its eyes stare up at the stallion (for he is old enough now, he and his father think, to be called this at last,) entirely void of life. Knox's lips wrinkle with an instinct he has never before had. He turns to the rabbit at his own hooves once more, and notices with a pang of guilt that it's hindquarters are still twitching--its eyes, still searching frantically for escape.

Knox raises a hoof and brings it down on the poor creature's skull, crushing it instantly. The eyes pop from their sockets and grind into the threshold dirt; blood pools.

I am hungry, Knox, Dovev whispers, his voice sinister and dispassionate.
And I am not.
How long has it been?

Since he has tasted blood? Bitten into flesh, torn skin from bone and ground the red sinews of muscle between his teeth?

It has been a long time.

The weak one is gone.
Aylin was strong.
but now she is gone.
And still I will respect her.
You are weak.
You are dead.

Silence settles in the mind of the Sentinel's son. Knox clicks his tongue, beckoning for Manhattan to draw closer, beneath the safety of his cloak, and finish her meal. He leaves the rabbit's corpse behind, his front hoof leaving blood prints and the body of the prey lying still.

A landing above arrives just in time; Knox is glad he has just concealed himself. Patterns of light dance across his back, and the shadow of the mare in the trees that casts over him seems to erase his figure. Manhattan trails slightly behind Knox as he follows the winged mare from above, gnawing on a rib bone, wondering when her bonded will eat again.

But Knox cannot think of meals, now. He watches with fascination as a scene unfolds before him, its cast a trio he has never before seen. Odd, what we do not see when we aren't looking, isn't it, Manhattan?

The dog drops the bone and yips a quiet reply. Knox steps further back, hesitant and fearing they might be discovered, but the shadows of the forest are plenty--the ripples of light cast down in the canopy an apt camouflage. He watches the confusion--hears the concern in the voices of the mare from above and the two-pronged stallion--and his heart fills with sorrow at the misrecognition in the eyes of the starry one.

You aren't lost, Manhattan assures him, leaning against his hocks as she sends the message to her bonded. And it is true, that in some ways he is not lost. Knox knows Manhattan is right, that she almost always is. He is no longer like this mare, in some ways. But he was, once. He was possessed for so long, unable to control the minds in his matter, the magic of a curse.

Is it any better now that he can?

The mare is a picture of tragedy, painted in pale blues and gold. Her stars are splatters of nonexistence. Manhattan finds the bone once more; Knox mourns the loss of this mare's perhaps once beautiful mind.

""

[[Permission to cloak; Knox is unseen. @[Serenity], @[Torleik], Ampere (What permissions do I have from you, Blu?) ((100th post!))]]