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The protector notices that there is something odd about the conversation and situation all too late. Manhattan has suspected something from the very start, but even melded together, the minds of Knox and Anaan had not perceived the supernatural aspects of the evening. But now, looking closer, Anaan sees the faint shimmering of the colt's dappled coat in the moonlight. He notices, with a sudden clarity, life emerge from the desolate bog as small rodents scurry across the earth and almost directly beneath his feet. He watches as they stop, struck still and sniffing the air around the three of them as if sensing something, but still looking right through them all. It is as if the three were never there at all.
And there is something comforting about knowing one is unknown. As the hollows within his breast seem to fill with an odd sensation, it becomes clear to the protector that some sort of magic has cast its net over them all. But what does it mean, then, if even unintentionally he has sought to include the colt? The protector balks somewhat, lifting his head high on an arched, dappled neck, and shaking it back and forth slightly. The tangled waves of his hair fly and catch beneath the glowing white straps of the halter- it casts a sickly, green pallor across his features. His eyes, once a clear blue, appear an unhealthily verdant hue in the light. Still, he gazes intently upon the colt.
So he has heard this before, then? He is aware that he is not normal? For Anaan is certain, now, of the colt's remarkable individuality. There is something inherently special about the hybrid that he cannot place, but it is undeniable, and to be respected. Knox seems to urge Anaan to bow before the colt, but the older stallion does nothing but step closer to bridge the gap he has just created.
Manhattan has stood and begun to pace, curling her body around his legs anxiously. Like a slalom, she curves in and out, treating Knox's figure like a comforting sort of statue. Perhaps at ill ease because of the cloak about them or unnerved by the colt's evident power, she begins to whine quietly. Her blue eyes are piercing as they search the gaze of her master, seeking his mind in the depths of Anaan's. He turns from her, pulling away his gaze. He cannot bear to see that sort of pain so clearly.
The colt speaks of the dark and of home. Anaan has lost his home and his shadow- Knox, it seems, while a subject of the night, has never had a true home. The stallion merely nods sagely in the hunter's body, looking beyond the colt, apparently named Mesec, as he muses.
"I am Knox," he answers slowly, rolling his tongue in his mouth like a toy as he speaks. The name is familiar only in thought. It is strange to speak it as if it is his own. "The dark... the night, that is. It is nice. The Goddess of the moon has blessed us," he speaks, dipping his head to inhale the dead scent of marsh grasses and accept Manhattan's affectionate nuzzle as she senses Knox's mind once more- his mind blinded by worship, but Manhattan's own master and friend nonetheless. The hunter's thoughts are faint, but clear enough to the mutt. She must adjust to so many minds. "It is nice to enjoy the evening with you, Mesec. Just us loners," croons the kind, deep tones of Anaan as his mind breaks through the shared thoughts of Knox and Manhattan. He nudges Manhattan gently towards the colt, but the dog seems hesitant. Perhaps, after all this time, she has taken on some of her master's antisocial mannerisms.
KNOX and MANHATTAN
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