Essetia

Look at the wake from the stardust pouring from your eyes

 

They are ghosts, weaving and shifting through the trees, as they trail once more into the monotonous strains of the Threshold. Above them the moon is giving way to the rise of a bright and beautiful morning that has yet to come, but will ultimately prevail nonetheless. It has been so many times now that the young mare and her wolf have tried the beaten walks of the claiming grounds in order to satisfy their lust for success and progression. Essetia, with ideas of redemption in mind, avows to return the numerous favors granted to her in the Throat, whether it be through the mindless toils of recruiting or otherwise. Even in recent days, the returned spy had heard many a sad tale as well as their more promising counterparts, but the results were still unchanging. She imagined that the coming of night would be no different and the secrets hiding between the trees would still remain as secret as they were in the light of day. No, nothing could be so changed by the light of the moon as the night she found Caneo amongst these very trees.

Perhaps that is why she is languid in her travels, her eyes trained only on the route ahead as a precautionary measure. In fact, she doesn’t expect to find much, not so late in the night when wiser creatures are sleeping. Instead, she chirps to Romul and they idly indulge one another in bland conversation befitting of two long-time friends. But of course they are so much more to one another, a piece of the other’s heart beating within their own chest. It is moments like this that Essetia feels most at ease alone in the dark… There is something soft and hazy in their quiet chatter that reminds her of simpler times, times when the burden of heartache did not plague her so wholly.

With this in mind, the mare begins her ascent into the heart of the Threshold, hoping to find something she has not seen before. There have been beautiful, painted ladies and handsome, thoughtful gentlemen, but Essetia is in search of something deeper, something more diverse. Whether she will encounter such a specimen is doubtful, but the mare hopes for something all the same.

The wolf travels ahead of her, his snout pressed into the cold dirt in search of his companion’s desires, but the task is slow-going at best. At times, his hackles rise to alert Essetia to the various scents he identifies as he goes, though none are fresh enough to warrant their interest. That is, until the wolf turns bright, golden eyes toward the mare with excitement, indicating that at last there is a trail in which they can follow.

Like flames to the dry wood, Essetia and Romul move forth with more purpose and urgency than before. They are graceful together, two bodies forged into one mind, and they appear almost contrasting in the soft glow of the moonlight. She, a plain bay, and he, a white arctic wolf, seem to be an atrocious match. Yet, the bonded pair is much more than that… they are family.

When at last the two lay eyes on a duo in the night, Essetia and Romul approach their object of interest slowly. Two mares, one yellow and one nearly indecipherable in the darkness, share common ground amidst a narrow clearing. The wolf and his companion are only lucky enough to catch the introduction proffered by the golden girl, but their interest is not piqued by her alone. Instead, their eyes waver on the newcomer, her scent being foreign enough to indicate her recent arrival.

With as much grace as the spy can afford, she approaches the strangers with a slight smile. “Indeed, welcome. Rest easy, your welcoming committee arrives,” she states with a broadening smile. “I’m Essetia and this is Romul. We hail from the southern region of this land from a place called the Dragon’s Throat. I imagine you’ve come seeking refuge?”