Night has fallen, consuming. The dark is a warm blanket to the pair. Knox follows the curves of the veins' welcoming stonework, ascending to the place where the shrine of the Goddess of the Moon stands. The neglect that hangs across the memorial for his deity stings; the hunter stamps a hoof with errant dissatisfaction, shocking himself with the sound of its echo on the stone.

Manhattan hangs back in a sulk, her nose raised in the air and her mouth hanging open as she takes in the scents. Blood, Knox, she warns him with a hiss in his mind. And blood of the innocents.

But Knox cannot bring himself to care. He has at last returned to the center of his night mistress' power. It is she who gave him the power he has over others, now, and the power he has over himself.

She didn't give you me, his jealous companion thinks with a snarl. And it is true, that Manhattan is his greatest, closest friend he has ever had. She is his everything, the reminder that he is no island.

Still, her disdain for his Goddess will always be a point of tension between them. Knox lashes his tail at his back and towards his companion, beckoning her with a hum. But she stays where she is, at the foot of the incline towards the shrine, facing away from its holy moonlight. Let Knox end this ridiculous fast of his on his own, if he even will.

Knox's ancestor's all have something different to say about the fact that they are here, at the shrine of a god. It is Janos who is the most enraged--vengeance courses through the mind of the colt, fighting with Knox. But he, too, is a dissenter Knox will not tolerate. In a moment, Knox shifts. It is better to not stay revealed for too long, anyhow. His Goddess, if she has watching, has seen now who he is. If he cloaks himself or disguises his being in the body of an ancestor, it is only a display of the power she has given him: a sign of thankfulness.

Janos' gray dappled body resists every inch of this place. He paces, using what little control he has to shudder and shift where he stands, a coward and a heretic in the blue eyes of the hunter, the same blue eyes that he had inherited from Janos in some distant way. They were alike, in many ways. After all, Janos had been Roanne, once in a long distance of time before the old ones had curse him. Perhaps there had still been traces of that dappled pony in the Sentinel's sin and seed, still a persistent, vengeful energy of one who had barely been allowed to live.

Listen to this devotion, Janos, Knox whispered into his ancestor's mind, soothing the jittery body of the young ancestor. See her beauty, even if only in my words.

Fool. You fool. Gods are killers, power is corruption. The ancients destroy, they take what they want and leave nothing but blood!

Knox doesn't dignify Janos' blasphemy with a response. Instead, draped in the clothes of his ancestor, he raises his face to the sky and closes his eyes, letting moonlight fill his being.

"My Goddess, dark lady of the moon, I have returned at last to live once more beneath your watchful gaze."

Manhattan lashes her tail, Janos balks, and the empty sky remains as it is: just that, an unblemished, swallowing darkness. No, the hunter realizes with a sigh, Knox has not convinced them in the slightest.

—
[[Tagged: @[Enna], any else who wish to join. Knox is currently in the form of Janos, more information can be found about him on Knox's profile. This is open to anyone--please let me know if I have permissions to use Knox & Manhattan magics if you join. Though it is unlikely they will use them, I like to have my bases covered. :)]]