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There’d been no reason to return, no logical explanation for the burning desire which had grown and grown over the course of the months since the Darkness. Perhaps he just needed closure now; a reason to forget, motivation to move on.
Hector landed, the impact of his large unchipped hooves stirring red dust to plume around him, and he took a tentative step towards the hedge of long grey-gold grass which swayed playfully against the tug of the dry, hot wind. He knew that the gateway to the underworld lay just beyond it, a massive fissure that had seemingly peeled apart the hard clay earth over night. It was frightening, he thought, without explanation; and the fact that its occurrence appeared to parallel with the plague, the sickness...
wraiths, was all the more unsettling. Yet, amid all the fear and confusion surrounding it- still swirling around the reality that still felt like only yesterday, there was inexplicable beauty hidden beneath the barren flats of the Heart; hidden where no grazer should ever think to explore.
Bristly grass heads sweep against his flanks, shoulders, as he stepped through; snagging in sleek, long copper tendrils as his tail snapped left and right, apprehensive. His eyes scoured the sea, noting that trenches like the one left by his passing, betrayed the arrival of many others before him- the same day, or only a few before. It was the rich scent of them though, the chaos of intermingled bodies staining the doormat to the centre of the earth, which revealed that they’d not long before descended. Supple, velvety nose pinched curiously and his flaccid nostrils rattled as he too took the plunge, sinking unabashedly into the cave which had brought the frail Helovian population protection.
The air felt cold, stale and just as uninviting as he remembered. Though a place almost of otherworldly magnificence, he’d never been comfortable and the stallion’s great wings had grown stiff between the cold, stone walls surrounding. He lowered his lips, testing the powerful, lingering aroma of the hoard ahead of him and continued along, allowing their presence to guide him- perhaps he would fall upon something notable, worth reporting back to the Throat’s government. Certainly he imagined that such a crowd would not have gathered in such a remote place to pass the time. Neat cupped ears swung backwards and forwards as he strained to hear the low thrum of voices; growing the nearer he crept.
Clear of the Sanctuary’s tunnel entrance, Hector turned towards the Wall of History, the moan of company,
the strange light dancing around the room... There were many present, still more than he’d expected and naturally he paused, mid-stride, taken aback by the sensory overload. The pool through which the God of the Earth had bestowed insight upon them many moons ago now churned, he thought, alight and alive. Few were gathered by the edge of the water, most were huddled around the room alone- surreal, quiet,
preoccupied. Fiery eyes passed across them, one by one, careful and concerned, but he could not help but be drawn (like perhaps they had also), closer, to peer at what he imagined might be his own twice-horned reflection.
Indeed, he found himself staring deep into his own wide eyes and the great stallion sighed at length. As he went to pull away, to turn and leave, the pool began to shimmer, the surface to ripple and an intricate picture appeared. Astonished to say the least, Hector’s jaw slackened and his mouth fell apart. Daenerys. A face he’d not seen for years. His children were wither also, young and so alike their mother. His heart ached suddenly, stinging grief and burning loss; the first to have stolen his heart seemed so close again, but when he reached to touch her, the illusions shifted.
Another face, one all too familiar and his yearning wavered dramatically, his pulse to quicken. Morana was there, her idyllic blue gaze lulling him closer; tempting, alluring,
beckoning... She was as beautiful as a desert storm, confusing and confronting. Hector no longer pined for Daenerys, he could only think about the drop of blood which glistened in the moonlight, shone when the rays of sunlight were caught in its midst; the mosaic of chocolate on ivory, the sinewy ripple of her coat and the mystery beneath her poise. Hector’s breath fluttered covetously across the surface of the water, his heart thundering within; but it was gone,
she was gone.
Alarmed, disgruntled gaze searched the colours as they began to meld together once more, forming another picture; his home, his family- those who had been, and the ones who were now. The Resolute, who had pulled him from the stew of wild insecurity and discouragement, seemed to be speaking, her lips curled and her tongue rolled, but Hector could not hear; his ears reaching forward desperately to listen. Where had Kri gone? They still were none the wiser, but her legend had not been forgotten. The pool darkened, and the golden-red sands that he loved, honoured and served seemed to fade; to be devoured. They were eaten by something else- a swirling mist, an ancient forest, cliff-top kingdom, and he thought perhaps World’s Edge.
But why...?
There was a movement behind him, a scuff of hooves, and Hector’s concentration pulled for only a second from the illusion. He blinked, but when he looked again to find the scene, only the dancing lights were there. Bemused, the warrior turned and moved from the pool towards the wall where still the etchings seemed to glow. He stood for a long while, simply considering all that had been seen.
Wishlist
20/06/2013 :: [Magic: Fire | The ability to summon a tiger made of flames. Causes physical burns if contact is made.]
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Followers of Flame
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