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The protector cannot help but trust the colt. There is something about him that comforts Knox, and even, to an extent, soothes his own well-aged soul. Perhaps it is the wise innocence with which Mesec carries himself, or the polite curiosity that he exhibits. Anaan delves deep into the mind of the hunter, searching for that same shred of innocence borne in a child.
He is sad to find only a hollow, dark space lined with blood. Is this what his earliest memory had been? Drinking the blood of Roanne, his father and Anaan's cursed son? The great and kind soul of Anaan sighs heavily, letting his breath turn sour in the marsh air. Manhattan stops her protestations only now, now that Anaan has settled upon the truth of her master. Deep in Knox's mind he feels a loyalty to the moon and sees flashes of memories. Visits to her shrine and crudely carved bones... all leading to this. This is how Anaan still lives.
Mesec suddenly raises the stakes and turns the conversation's subject to his mother: The Goddess of the Moon. Anaan, still puzzling over his new understanding of Knox's worship, barely has time to react before he feels himself losing control. Knox's faith blind Anaan, pulling him back into the woodwork until it is Knox, half crazed and still shaken by the monsters of the marsh, who emerges. Like a cub from his winter den, Knox views the world with amazement. He is in the presence of a god.
Manhattan's disposition has soured swiftly and dangerously. Her hackles lift and her magic begins to swirl in the air about them. Faint, tiny pictures of blood covered imps cloud her blue eyes before the hunter interrupts her focus. "Manhattan, behave," he neighs loudly, uncomfortably. Though her distrust of the moon is nothing new, he has expected her at least to understand the child's innocence. Whatever sins Manhattan may find in the shadow of the moon, Knox is certain that Mesec is not to be counted among them.
"I trust you, Mesec," the hunter says, his voice still tinted with Anaan's kindness. It is the content of the speech that changes- all else remains under the protector's influence. "And so I will tell you my secret." The colt sighs heavily, hoping to at last share his troubles. Manhattan, still wary, sulks by his side and casts the tribrid an occasional dirty look, but no longer attempts to persuade her master. He is a fool, she thinks with disappointment. Let him share his deepest secrets, she will not stop him this time.
"I am from here, I was born in Helovia's deep woods. But this bridle..." he begins with a step backwards and a look out into the undisturbed wilderness, "...this bridle is from a land very far away. It has been worn by all the great stallions in my family. And your mother has given me the gift of their knowledge." He spoke with confidence, feeling clarity surmount fear and insanity. "Sometimes when I speak, I am someone else." He watches the colt closely, looking for a reaction. The news of his magic is surely nothing to brush aside.
Or is it? Is it really only so important to him?
[[This tag is awful and was a long time coming. I am so sorry.]]
KNOX and MANHATTAN
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