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07-21-2016, 01:03 AM
i never said i'd stay to the end
It has been more than a long time since they have returned to the trees, and in the dark belly of the forest, tucked away behind the veil of night, there is only them.
Branches crunch beneath her hooves as she follows a path that seems to be narrowing, deepening into the woods as they go, following Hobgoblin’s silent, ghostly form as he strolls. Each of his steps are long, stretched to the brim till they seem like they’ll break his legs, and her’s are the exact opposite, short, small, placed with caution. She knows more than well that there are things in the dark that you do not want to step on.
The marsh is quick to come back to mind, the bones, their rolling corpses beneath the silvery sheen of water that doesn’t seem exactly like water, how they walked in the end, coming to get her, reaching…
Her eyes shut as if her eyelids weigh a thousand pounds, clenching shut with wrinkles building mountains and valleys, illuminated by the soft glow of her horn that pierces the night.
Hobgoblin is staring. He’s turned completely to meet her, lower legs blending into the vegetation as his facial features hold the same, never-changing expression of emptiness that is forever painted to his skull. When she does open her eyes, the greeting given from him is one to make nearly anyone’s skin crawl.
He’s just standing there, close to a statue in how still this form is, how different from how he typically is, jaws clamped shut and eyes burrowing into her soul. Both of them know that the other can feel it. It’s rumbling in her chest, catching in her throat, fogging her brain.
Panic.
“No monsters here.”
It’s the first truly logical sentence that he’s spilt, or at least from how his language skills leave him capable of. There are monsters here, she wants to remind him, they’re you and me.
She sighs. The invisible grip on her throat doesn’t release with it.
“You be okay.”
What a lie, because she feels constantly haunted by those images. The bones are always there, and even below the stars and a cold, harshly pale crescent moon, she feels as if they'll never leave her. She wants to know that the marsh is gone, sunken into the sea and out of reach.
"I don't feel okay."
He doesn't respond to her. His gaze has left her entirely, his back turned so that when she looks away from the sky and back to him that his rump and the outline of white, bone-like antlers is all that is left of him.
He is leaving her, and she, desperate to not be left alone because for the longest time now she has never been truly alone, trails after him at a slow canter.
OOC: Hobgoblin is in his wendigo form.
when both us knew how the end always is
