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The darkness was obsolete, a stubborn shadow besmirching the once-golden land, blacker than the mare's soul- well, perhaps not quite that black, but a bleak deprivation of light that ate the world and rested heavily on her charcoal soldiers, so plentiful it became a tangible thing, a breathing monster that was always walking beside her. Everything was muffled by this darkness as she maneuvered clumsily as a newborn child through her first walk, and yet her ineptitude was unavoidable, when the roots the harlot could not see and the low-lying branches stung her face, whipping savagely at her already scar-mangled flanks. Alongside this, there was an ever-present sensation that had her sooty skin crawling unpleasantly, the perception that eyes were watching her constantly from the shadows, whether it be predator or prey she knew not; but she felt as if haunted by her old mother's damnable ghost, and was the breeze the cold chill of the dead's breathing?
The mare damned to live roamed downwards from the cold northern reaches, her mind slipping way near-entirely from Déodat and the heat of his crimson skin against her scarred hide, lost to the wind. Without thought, without any musings or pondering, she started off making her way through snow drifts reaching to her chest and pushing on to a lighter snow that clung wetly to her dark coat through the narrow bridge. This bridge connected the very northern tip of Helovia to a range of sprawling mountains, some of which mountains nurtured the Windtossed Foothills herd, which she was was frustratingly oblivious too. Why was it there? Who lived within its rolling hills? Only an idiot, or a reckless fool, would saunter into a herdland, and so she steered clear from it.
Between the mountains into the forest, narrowly avoiding the stench of newcomers from the Threshold. In the pine trees the snowfall was light, a crisp cream layer, and the air less frigid. Here or there in the dark she could hear the quiet patter of paws as a lynx fled the scene on wide paws. With every moment the frigid air grew warmer, and yet the altogether more affable land did nothing to ease her insidious fear of what may lurk in the night. Normally, she was not predisposed to a terror of beasts which skulk about; but today, or rather, the Endless Night as she had begun to call it, was an exception. Even the darkest of nights had its light shining down from the moon, but it was not so anymore. The sun did not rise, the grass did not grow, the stars did not shine.
So she stalked the earth in silence, becoming part of the tenebrosity.
And yet, there was one psychological side-affect that gnawed at her unbecomingly. The darkness so deep and what may hide inside it chewed at her thoughts, frayed her nerves. Company was lacking, and even the most solitary of horses are driven for the basic need of companionship. Nothing was forthwithcoming to her malignant heart, and so she moved alone, restless, weary from lack of sleep and yet unable to rest her eyes in peace. Exhaustion was so heavy in her limbs she knew that sooner than later she may simply collapse, but for now she continued her fruitless pursuit for the cherished camaraderie of strangers.
Confutatis inhaled and exhaled, exiting the woods carefully, reluctant of bumping into any unseen trees. Her eyes stung at the dim glow of the lantern trees, warm amber light washing over the meadow. Only three rimmed this part of the field, sparse, but they were bright. Thank the gods for the trees; she had found none on the Steppe, had not known of their existence, until she had gambled at trying her luck south.
The water was a calming melody on her nerves, the river flowing lazily, and she dropped her head and drank, water droplets splattering her hooves.
""
CONFUTATIS
and when you meet me, you at long last acquaintance yourself with death in all its magnificent glory.
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