The instant he steps into her perception she discovers the high price which solitude holds. She has valued this moment of keen isolation, this magnificent solitude in the ardent fall storm. In the swift waning light thoughts have tumbled wild, processing nonsense in an attempt to find logic. Ampere's outcry plays loops in her mind, memories of malice casting chill in her bones. How could a mare she thought to call friend sentence herself and her brother to die? What madness possessed her, what ill reason and contempt; what crimes had she suffered, that she should loathe their bond so? The shimmer of understanding which she'd felt for the dame lay shattered and burned, clouded by contempt and a violent rage. Alone, quiet anger skulked moody and harmless beneath her skin.
With solitude violated, it begins to inflame.
Drip, drip, drip. His echo strikes the walls with leviathan force, the clipping of toes a hammer to her skull, discordant, dissonant, cacophony of crows. The castings of iron set deep in his skull bore into her, daggers and diamonds thrown with deadly force. She can feel his heat on the back of her neck, the violence of his hate bending into her mind; it crashes unheeding through thoughts of distaste, leaving a wake of foam ire, waves of discontent.
Neck does not arch as the boy spreads his legs; the pinning of ears is her response to this show, tensing of shanks and tightening of eyes. His scent is disguised beneath urine and rain, but his magic is strong and it sings her a memory, the crashing of waves and stone tight on her limbs, the voice of a child filled with humiliation and hate. You, says the voice, but it's different this time- older and firmer, calm and enraged. Beneath its embrace she suppresses a snarl. She is not in the mood for his childish games.
"Leave," says the girl, contempt in her voice. He is nothing, an infant, a blip on her peace. She has bigger problems than a boy who thinks piss a clever retort.
@[Reginald]
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