The hunter basks in the moonlight like a cat on a sunlit rock. Cloaked in shadow and with nothing to fear, he brings his body beside the shore of the frigid spectral marsh and relaxes tired and powerful muscles. Days of wandering the wilds and making several encounters of odd natures have worn him, and so now he does all that he can to resist the temptation to submerge himself in the marsh's seemingly innocent waters. By daylight they are grim and filled with mire, but under cover of night they appear nothing but a deep black that the dark-hearted stallion finds comforting. They are dark, but not in any sort of sinister way. They are the dark of his father's rich blood, repelling the shadows of his mother's influence. Knox stiffens and shakes out his curly mane so that it catches in the firm Orangemoon wind, as if it will cast out the thoughts that plague his aching consciousness.

Manhattan is all that brings him comfort now. Supportive as ever, she stands alert by his side, her bright blue eyes scanning the marsh for any sign of life. Life to quench and destroy- to snap between her poisonous jaws and make a meal of. The pair are somewhat unstoppable with the magic they share between them. His cloak works well enough to hide him from the careful eyes of prey that have long since learned to fear him, and the silver smoke that trails from his eyes whenever magic stirs within him is enough to send any creature in the wrong direction. Her terrors act as a perfect distraction- her poison is enough to take down any small game if they can corner it effectively. They are a formidable pair... on most days.

Tonight they rest, at the very least rest as much as they can. The dark duo are always alert and on watch, fending off paranoia and sating deep hungers. Manhattan plants her paws firmly at the water's very edge, but she knows better than to enter the deep. It is her grounded logic that keeps Knox away from the danger himself. He watches over the marsh as if he is its guardian, remembering those he has met in the wilds with a strange sort of dis-attachment. He pictures his father, the Sentinel of the Woodlands, standing as he does now.

It is strange, Knox thinks, to be proud of a father. It is curious that mother's indoctrinations have never led him to forget Roanne's memory; that the bridle wrapped about his face is something that he totes with pride. He looks down at Manhattan, his cloak still wrapped around him, melding him with the shadows and hiding him from any prying eyes. She turns her gaze to meet his own, and there is a certain understanding there. He is not his mother's greatest achievement- Manhattan is proud of him even more for that.

[[ For M.E. :) ]]