Яikyn

Ever since Kyst hatched, momma has been busy teaching her how to be a griffon; it’s to my benefit, allowing me time to learn the land more personally and to spend time with my sister. I don’t know where Aithniel is now, but that’s also to my liking, because I’m not looking for her this afternoon, even though maybe I should be – the fact that momma has kept her pretty much secluded from the life she had grown me in had left her lagging behind me in many ways, a fact that left me sad and bitter because Aithniel is not stupid or deserving of the treatment she gets from the woman who birthed me and spared her with her milk, and also because it leaves her at a disadvantage when it comes to the social networks at play in this land. As if her wings weren’t enough of a curse, I think with my little muzzle wrinkled in anger.

I hope that she’s off with Erebos, who seems to have taken a liking to her despite the warnings I’m sure his father has tossed at him about the flying things of Loorien. The Reaper had been at that meeting, the one where momma had asked for the head of some equine woman and where all the faces had been dark and scheming. I’d seen many of them since then, the others of the Plague, that secret group I couldn’t even tell Aithniel about even though I desperately wanted to warn her to stay away from them. The thought of harm coming to her makes me feel sick – and I know I can’t protect her from so many adults if they decide to go over momma’s instructions to leave her be.

It’s not even that I don’t see the reasoning behind the racism, because the stories momma has told me point to the fact that we are better and more deserving than they are and that the other species can never be trusted, but Aithniel is different. She was raised around the crowned and so would surely carry our noble culture with her, and while she wore wings, she also has a horn to lend her the pride the rest of us felt. Even if she was blighted and wrong, it was not a thing she could change, and she was not so entirely wrong as to be crownless like the Queen of the Edge or that woman momma wants dead so badly.

The sentinels rise ahead and I send my golden eyes searching for my sire, spurred mostly by momma’s suggestion last night that I go ahead and seek him out now that I’m not so young and obnoxious. I don’t really understand why she thought I was ever such a thing – I’ve spent much of time with her silent and trying my best not to rouse her wrath with capricious or anecdotal behavior, and for anyone who spends any amount of time around the bitch I call mother, they know it is not easy to remain composed with so many long winded and self praising words drifting about and inciting boredom.

I look over my shoulder to make sure Aithniel isn’t coming and quickly trot over the crest of the hill and down towards his usual work place, actually really excited to spend some time with my dad but knowing that he wouldn’t approve of my sister much at all. Unlike momma, father is a man of action, his machines towering over the threshold of our valley to prove that he is capable of more than just talking about how awesome he is (though I’m sure momma has some bite, or she wouldn’t still be in charge of such a large herd).

@[Ulrik]

in every heart a hole

Ulrik

the engineer

Ulrik the Engineer had once been leader of this herd, if only for a time. His words of pain and poison had pushed Psyche down, bearing on her crownless head until she yielded to him. After only a day of setting in motion his plans to make the herd great, he had handed the title over to Deimos. As he had said many times before 'politics undo me'. He was not the stallion you wanted answering the front door, his mad eyes and poor social skills certain to confirm rumors of treachery and darkness in this land.

And yet, here he stood, forced by his own creations to work at the gateway of the valley, his machines standing tall and proud in the snow. The Engineer was still working on the second one, but this one was slower. He needed more metal, and he would have to make a trip soon to gather. So, he turned his attention to the first sentinel which stood as a silent force, a statue until willed to move by circuitry and spark.

Other than working with Farenjer and Torleik, not much had happened in his life besides fathering a child. He had been present at his birth along side an insolent bitch whom he had barely managed not to murder on spot. After that incident, he hadn't been overly involved in Rikyn's life. He knew that Illynx had chosen him to father her child, so he would not get in the way of her rearing him the way she wanted.

That did not mean that he did not care for the boy or watch over him from a distance now and then. He had a despicable little friend Illynx had brought home, but he trusted the mare's judgement. She saw something special in the runt, so he would hold his tongue for the time being. Illynx had a reason for bringing her here, and he was curious as to what that reason was.

"Your boy approaches," Kirchoff muttered in boredom through the bond they shared. The hellhound rolled over onto his side in the grass and yawned, blinking his silver eyes up at Ulrik. "Your child, the one you fathered, you know... your responsibility."

Ulrik shot a glare at the mouthy hound before turning to see his boy indeed approach. He had grown considerably, no longer quite all leg and skinny body. Still, the stallion moved toward his child, cloven hooves lightly depressing the snow until they met. He smiled, the expression as warm as his dark and mad face could manage. Many would mistake Ulrik's lack of social interest and strange mannerisms as stupidity, but in reality, he was a genius, unfettered by the niceties of the normal mind.

But in his heart, he still deeply cared for and possibly even loved his child. "Rikyn," he said, his voice holding pride. Pride was as close to love as he could express vocally. "You look stronger than ever." Ulrik leaned down to pull his boy closer and affectionately tousle his growing hair. He remembered what the boy smelled like when he was still a babe, so soft and innocent...

"Tell me, what brings you here?" he asked. He could care less if Rikyn ran away from his mother and wreaked havoc. Boys needed to destroy things and break the rules in order to know the rules. If he was sheltered too much and too long, he would eventually grow up and snap, disobeying every law that would keep him safe. In other words, Ulrik's philosophy was 'break rules now so you know your limits later'.

Яikyn

He’s there like I’d hoped he’d be, along with his wicked looking dog. I don’t know his companion as well as I’ve come to know young Kyst, and from first glances, this hound is older than momma’s griffon by some length and thus earns a bit more tact from me, though as ever, my youthful interest in what he is and how he functions is keen.

It brings a smile to my lips as well as my sire puts aside his work and strides through the summer grasses towards me, my pace increasing to a bouncy and swift trot to quickly seal the distance between our two bodies. Momma is right – I am very obviously his, from the strange, linear markings that are etched into our black bodies to the metallic sheen of our eyes. I can only hope I grow as tall and strong as he is, or half as intelligent.

While our time together has been limited, I know he watches me – without intruding, of course, but his eyes still find me wherever I may be. I can tell from the limited amount of interaction between he and mother that our family is not a traditional one where both parents cling to one another and feed each other love, but rather a strange presentation of a family; my sire lingers on the distance with his brilliant machines and my dam controls (or seeks to) everything with her hot, molten stare and sharp tongue, and even though we are not average in comparison to the other families on the mountain, I trust them and feel secure in our union – even if it is not always obvious.

I fold into his embrace of greeting, finding a strange surge of comfort in the rough touch of the stallion’s lips against my fluffy ridge of mane, finally long enough to make its first feeble attempts at flopping down and laying flat against my neck – though most rides the wind and bobs like a rooster’s crown with each step. Dad’s words make me feel slightly embarrassed and giddy on the inside, a strange mix of emotions that I try and hide under a cool, collected exterior, though my lips flicker in a delighted smile and my eyes burn happily beneath his complements. I don’t know what to say back other than to butt my nose into him and lean more fully into his greeting, my tail twitching with pleasure behind me.

"I have no lessons today," I say when asked why I’m here; unlike when I’d met Uncle Torleik, I was actually not an escaped vagabond this afternoon, "I thought maybe we could spend a day together instead of playing with Aithniel and Erebos." I pause and smile, not sure if dad knows either of them but sure he has at least seen the pair while watching me – I have found love in my heart for my adopted sister and Erebos is just the right sort of guy to spend my afternoons with when Aithniel is busy with… winged girl things.

"Oh!" I add, pulling away in the wriggling way children do everything, excitement burning like star fire in my face and eyes, "I met Uncle Torleik! He was very tall."

@[Ulrik]

in every heart a hole

Ulrik

the engineer

When his boy fully accepted his embrace, Ulrik felt something in his soul stir, something that he had thought never existed before within the makeup of his persona. Was this love? He was curious about the emotion, considering he had not felt it before, but if this was what love felt like, then he was glad to have it in his heart for his boy. The stallion even smiled in a soft way, confused by how this child had changed him from within, made him stronger in a way he did not fully understand.

So, he squeezed the boy tightly, holding him to his chest until he knew it was time to let go. The Engineer looked down with pride and something deeper glittering in his mad, bronze eyes. At the mention of lessons, Ulrik nearly snorted. Of course Illynx would have the boy on a regimented schedule of lessons. He was a prince, after all, but still, he needed time to roam, get in trouble, break things... Otherwise, he would just end up breaking more valuable things in the future.

Illynx was fortunate that Rikyn was not like him when he was younger. He cared not about his mothers warnings, lessons or words. He would wander, tinker, make things, destroy things, and get in all kinds of trouble. But, he would return to her, greasy and gross, and she would still smile. Rikyn needed that in his life, someone he could come to no matter what and would still greet him with a smile. Ulrik decided that he would take up this noble mantle.

Spending a day with his son sounded like a wonderful idea, and at his exclamation, Ulrik chuckled, smiling. Torleik was a good friend, family - the only family he had left. The massive viking stallion was indeed tall and powerful, and their battle, which Ulrik had barely won by a hair, had left him with a few new scars. "Torleik is wise and clever," Ulrik said with a grin. "If he offers you advice, I would listen."

Was Aithniel this winged abomination? Erebos was surely Deimos' son, the dark prince. "I would enjoy spending a day with you, Rikyn," he said calmly. "We can do whatever it is that you want, even if these things are against the rules," he added with a conspiratorial grin.

Яikyn

I don’t miss the derisive change that takes my father as I mention my lessons – though I’m not entirely sure why it is he finds the idea of momma ushering me from one task to another so worthy of mockery. If I didn’t have an adequately sized ego already and a fine bit of intelligence for a boy so young, I might have worried that he was making fun of me rather than my crazy dam – but clever as I was, I had not missed similar grimaces or gestures from the other adults when mother was brought up in her absence. While she was feared and perhaps even respected by most of those she lived with, they openly mocked her behind her back, which is something I think she can only blame herself for. It’s hard to like a woman with two faces and a bladed tongue, even if she is good at her job.

I watch the face of my sire as he thinks thoughts I cannot touch, left only to the comfort that it is none of my business, anyway. His smile and laughter are something I soak up as his reticence fades and returns him to reality, my words on my newly discovered Uncle amusing in ways that bypass my young man. What dad says in reply to my story is so typically adult talk that I almost frown but manage to maintain my smile, youthful face bobbing in understanding along with the swishing of my tail behind me, still enthralled with the conversation despite the fact that I was, yet again, being talked to like a child.

I am a child.

It doesn’t make it any less annoying.

"Yes sir," I say, my features bright despite the horrid way such trained submission makes me feel, as if a rancorous wound festers somewhere in my chest and drives me to start biting the nearest body in my path, learning well the masks that all great and wise rulers wore (no matter that I wouldn’t touch momma’s job with a nine hundred foot stick for all the magic in the world), "he didn’t seem to care for momma much." I admit this with curious wonder writ on my expression as I guide the conversation away from my bitterness at being young, not distrust or dislike of the man called Torleik for feeling as he did. I don’t really like her and she’s my mother – still, I can’t help but bring it up, wondering if dad could provide more insight into why it is everyone followed a woman they couldn’t stand, as he had the day with the dark girl momma told me was my other adopted sister from before I had been born. I hadn’t seen her since the first hours of my life, her figure a black one with white eyes that burned and glowed with anger – and I admit silently to myself now that I am glad we haven’t crossed each other’s paths again if that is what I’ll have to look forward to.

Glancing down at my hooves momentarily before returning my golden gaze to my sire, I smile fleetingly, almost in apology for broaching such a subject that would surely make mother’s voice rise to a shriek and her teeth gnash viciously in my direction for discussing such improper and treacherous things. "Actually… most of them seem to dislike her. The tall old man with the red coat openly mocks her though they pretend it is a game and Uncle seemed to think she was…oh, not so great as she acts she is," I’m not sure why it scalds me so to think that others don’t appreciate my mother in the same ways that I don’t, but it does, maybe because it’s a reflection on me somehow or because I feel within my young heart of hearts that I am the only one allowed to condemn her for the wretched monster of a woman she could be, "why do they follow her still, if they do not trust her or admire her?" The core of my inquiries is revealed last, the rambling thoughts of my smart mind unable to pinpoint the question I truly wanted to ask until I’d spewed out all the facts that would lead to it.

What father says next makes me nearly die of smiles, my face bright and enthusiastic at the mention of having a rule free day in the afternoon sun with the tall and strong stallion. The trouble we could cause together! My grin is vivacious and lively and dances on my face as my cloven hooves tramp beneath me in giddy exuberance, my mind clinking away at the possibilities of what we could do that involved breaking all of momma’s stupid rules.

Somehow, I don’t think dad will agree to charging into the Edge and setting fire to the trees as we went without the support of an army to catch the sure backlash from such actions. And so I am left with smaller plots, ones that draw my gleeful smile into a ponderous frown as I realize that there is nothing really to do on this stupid mountain. The sun flashes a bright light across the standing Sentinel as the clouds shift overhead and fill my mind with an idea.

"Can you show me how you make the metal live?" I ask, my voice boyish in its wonder at the magic that the adults around me seemed to bend and utilize with the grace and skill of Gods, even more leant to my tones by my hour playing with Kahlua’s metal scorpion and a life begun beneath the shadow of the massive war constructs on the border, "I can help carry some supplies from the storage cavern." Bolstering my chest outward in a show of my strength, my minuscule sinew bulges in an almost laughable way that is lost on my young, male bravado. In truth, I will be most useless in lugging the heavy stuff such a distance, but I can pretend for the time that I am very much capable of a man’s work and am further driven by the presence of my father to impress him with my prowess.

I felt no such urge to appease my mother, to fill her heart with pride; I did what I did to keep her happy with me and not flinging lightning bolts at my hide as she did with the hornless slaves she kept me as far away from as she could.

Another idea of something to do – but I brush it aside for the most exciting thought of learning how father utilized his great gift from the God of Time, not to mention the splendid story it will make for Aithniel when we next get a chance to play.

in every heart a hole

Ulrik

the engineer

Ulrik watched what he assumed was a power struggle taking place within Rikyn, and he raised a brow slightly. The response was polite, but strained. The Engineer listened quietly, nodding when Rikyn told him that his cousin did not seem to like Illynx much. "Well, first, you do not have to call me sir, and if you don't want his advice, it's your choice not to take it. You don't have to obey everything you hear," he said genuinely. "As for my cousin not liking Illynx, I think that he believes her weak and unable to control Deimos," he said quietly, brows furrowing. "But to be honest, I've never asked him, so I don't know." Ulrik looked down at the boy, hoping that that would satisfy his curiosity for now.

When he looked down at his hooves, Ulrik raised a brow, indicating that he should continue to speak his mind if he was up to it. What he said was surprising, and the stallion snorted bitterly at the mention of who he thought to be d'Artagnan. "Your mother is a very powerful woman, different than Psyche, the leader before her," he replied, unperturbed by the accusations against Illynx. "Illynx is changing the herd in ways that some may deem radical, and our species does struggle with pride. She has not been here in this herd as long as most of us, and I believe some tension may arise from there." Ulrik smiled a little as he thought of the woman who had seduced him completely and bore him this handsome child. "Everyone here trusts her, or they would not follow her," he said honestly. "But not everyone will like her, just as not everyone likes me. That red stallion you spoke of? d'Artagnan? He called me a useless knitter, so he is just a grumpy old jackass who has nothing to do but judge others to escape the misery of his own pointless existence."

Okay, well yes, that was incredibly bitter, but he was still not over the slights d'Artagnan had foolishly dealt. Ulrik sighed. "d'Artagnan was a good doctor, is a good doctor, but he tends to speak before he really knows what is coming out of his mouth," he finished, knowing that he shouldn't exactly be teaching his son that they were surrounded by idiots. Such truths this early on would only crush his spirits. He had to live for a little while with the naivety that the world was full of smart friends who always acted in their best interest. "We may question your mother, Rikyn, but we all believe that she is a good leader. She has proven that much. But, as you well know, sometimes, she's not easy to get along with."

The Engineer offered to do whatever his wanted, and he could not help but feel guilty when his eyes lit up. Did the kid never get to do what he wanted? Did Illynx have him so far under her hoof that he could breathe and nothing else? What he wanted was surprising, but Ulrik felt his chest tighten, proud that his son was interested in his work.

The stallion nodded, quickly weaving his son a bag and draping it over his shoulders. "Come, lets get some metal and I will show you what I know." Ulrik picked up a languid canter, running with his boy across the fields and reaching the storage cave. "The coppery colored metals are good to transmit spark," he instructed. "The silver ones are harder and better for armor, but I do need both." Ulrik took some of the metal into his own bag, and once they were done, he lead his son back to the sentinels.

But he had no intention of working on this them time. "Tell me, Rikyn. What is your favorite creature?"

Яikyn

I didn’t have to call him sir? What did I call him then?

Just… father? Dad? Mom hadn’t ever told me what to do when it came to him, just the other men of the herd – and they were always sir, she said, until I was old, strong, and sure enough that I could best them in combat. If that meant I had to look to them as “sirs” and “madams” the rest of my life should I never be strong enough to rise above them, it made a warm comfort settle in me that, at least, dad wouldn’t be among them.

He goes on to tell me that I don’t have to take everything I am told as fact and law; I already know this, of course, but I’m too young to really know if I’m making a wise choice or being foolish, and so its only second nature to lean on the adults of my life to give it order. As he expands on my question as to why Torleik didn’t like momma, I feel my ears fall back at the reason. Weak and unable to control Deimos? My frown is obvious on my lips as I sullenly state my own opinion, even as father concludes with a statement that he is not entirely sure that is why. "No one controls anyone here, ‘cept the Gods," I say, "and keeping the Reaper in check? She’d have better luck getting the Sun’s nuts as a trinket alongside her pendants." A laugh breaks from my lips, my mind recalling the times I watched his dark, solid silhouette in the distance, imposing even in stillness, then falls suddenly as I realized I’d just cursed in front of my sire.

Shit. He did say we could do whatever, right?

As long as he doesn’t tell momma.

I don’t want her to stop supplying me with the long, extravagant list of curses and insults she’d been feeding me since my birth, her smutty tongue so ingrained in her personality that she never even so much as flinched when saying it. But I knew they were bad things – mostly because if she ever heard me repeating them, she’d quiver and shake with anger and smack me across the rump with her horn.

I hated her horn. I wish someone would break it off like they did Aunt Psyche’s.

As our conversation turns to d’Artagnan, its as if dad pulls the woman’s name from my mind, placing her not only firmly in reality but also not very far from the tales momma has shared of her. But the explanation being provided to me is latched onto with silence, absorbing all that is said and nodding when I found correlations to my own daily life. Momma was changing things; the painted Queen from the Edge, for one, and he knew in his heart that Aithniel was another blight that drew the scalding, judgmental eyes of their peers to both he and his dam. But, unlike many in the herd, his dam had shared with him her macabre plans – ones drenched in gold and sparkling light, all a lure to hide the rot beneath.

Momma was smart, and powerful; that she didn’t win her wars with physical dominance was something I felt great pride for and wished to emulate, even if Uncle couldn’t and judged her for it.

As he turns to cussing over the Doctor, my eyes grow round and surprised; even momma hadn’t been so volatile, and the man had been throwing insults at her like a professional slandering cannon. As if he notices the change in my face, or perhaps only realizes that his statement was crass, he elaborates more on d’Artagnan, and I nod in agreement. I myself had much learning to do in this department – my earlier fount of bad language included.

I nod too, when he says mother is not the easiest to get along with. In all honesty, I think the unbearable heat of the desert and the sharp spines of cacti were more comforting and approachable than she was. "So…" I lead, compiling all I’d just heard and trying to repeat it back to him in a new way so he knows I heard him, a trick I’d picked up learning from momma – the lesson always ended if I could spit her rhetoric back at her, "they don’t like her. But they trust her. And that’s all she needs? All we need, even."

That we didn’t need love or companionship to be great was an ugly truth that hit me with the weight of a thousand boulders; my mind moves to Aithniel, all momma had said of her, and suddenly it all makes sense. Aithniel may love him, and seek the love of his dam, but she was only a reason to not trust them, proof that my dam had strayed from the path so carefully drawn by Psyche and Mauja – her worries over the girl were suddenly much more founded and sensible to me. That it meant my own life had already been stunted by her presence is a painful thing to think of, one I don’t really want to dwell on as it makes me frown and makes my heart well up with a cold, bitter sensation.

No; Aithniel was not a burden, or a risk. She was my sister, and I loved her. The rest of them would just have to learn to. The rest of them would see.

Thankfully, we’re moving on to the better part of the day, the one involving some work and a whole lot of fun. I feel the weight of the burlap flop down across my shoulders and feel the first beaming rays of my smile come to life as we move out towards the storage cave, father loping easily with his long, powerful legs and my own more assertively darting behind him to keep up, occasionally shifting my strides to keep the bag in place as it threatens to billow free.

We stop just outside the entrance and both make our way in, Dad with his strong, assured strides and me with my bouncy elated ones. He explains the types of metals and their use, and I nod in understanding as I drop my muzzle and wiggle out from under the sack he’s let me borrow. Grasping at the closest chunk of red toned metal I see, I take in its smooth coldness against my lips for a moment before slipping it inside, moving on to a gleaming, silvery chunk. There is a slight difference in the way they feel, as if the pale metals are softer in nature than the ruddy ones, but it is equally as cold against my tongue.

Once I have the bag as full as I can manage and not topple over once I pick it up with my teeth and swing it across my shoulders, I look up at father as we begin to take our leave of the cave, hearing his question and burning with excitement. Its too early yet to hope that he asks me for a creation of my own – but I take a good moment to think it over before I answer, not having ever really thought of it before and wanting to be sure I answer as truthfully as I can. "Hmmm," I say, little hooves making clopping noises beneath me and my tail swaying lazily behind me, "I’ve always liked cats, maybe because of Irelyn and Kyst – but I think its just their grace. And the other day we saw the most hilarious squirrel with tufts coming off of his head. Momma didn’t know what kind it was though."

[ OOC: He speaks of the Abert's Squirrel. ;D Hahaha. ]

in every heart a hole