the Rift


Official Posts: 847
Stallion :: Equine :: ::

The Shadowmere is dead...

Perhaps a mother's intuition is at its strongest when faced with her own mortality, whether she knows it or not. Her death is a release from the struggles and pains of childbirth. The last thing she saw before death infiltrated and overcame her body was her newborn. Perhaps that is why there are only the symptoms of pregnancy and childbirth that mar her hide - there are no signs of an attack. Did the Shadowmere succumb without struggle in hopes of saving the life she newly brought into the world? There is only one body here, not two ... so perhaps were that the case, she succeeded.

But were one to look closer, at her neck where her jugular once pulsed you would see puncture wounds - clearly made by the fangs of a snake.

I. The NINTH clue, revealed from the death of CIRCE is A SNAKE BITE

This is the FINAL clue!

Not a problem! Just reply to this thread so that you can have access to clue 9. You are welcome to continue forming teams and letting us know who is in the team in an OOC note at the bottom of your post.

Someone from each team must post here in order to have "found" the clue.

This clue will be available for ONE WEEK. During this week, you may post and submit your guesses via PM to the OFFICIAL ACCOUNT.

Macaria Posts: 57
Mare :: Unicorn :: 17 hh :: Three Years [Birdsong]


Palest Shadow; Darkest Light

what I do remember.

Even if I actually caught more than a glance of it, an eyeful of it—it would still always lurk in the corners of my vision, nothing more than a creeping impression of something evil, black and horrible. Life-stealing, rancid, so awful, so awful.

I was just a babe, newly born. I knew nothing. Nothing. My mind was empty, and the few impressions I had gotten made no sense. The things I saw made no sense; they were just shapes flickering before me with eyes I had just only discovered in those moments. Light was new to me, the light from the crater and the lava that settled inside it (I didn’t know lava, either). Even Mother—oh Mother-- was nothing but shapes before me, scents that I couldn’t recognize as the blood that I was covered in, the fluids that came from the temple of her body. I probably saw her tears—and they meant nothing. I probably heard her laughter, too, and it was nothing but confused garbling in my baby’s brain.

Oh, Mother.

I was tired, so tired; I had laid there, exhausted with my birth, the very air I breathed something new to me, something grand that I tried to figure out. I squealed and burbled, testing the throat I found I had; I moved the lips that I had realized belonged to me, and blinked the eyes that I had found in my possession. The shape made to lift itself, and in that moment I made a new discovery, apparent in the rumble of my belly. I would know it as hunger, and something urged me upward, that standing would bring the relief I barely knew I sought.

I had stirred myself; the shadows stirred as well.

I do not know what happened—nothing made sense to me. I did not know that the shape that stood to defend me was Mother, not then; I did not know what death was, being as newly acquainted with life as I was. I did not know that my Mother had fallen at my feet, lifeless and cold; I only knew that, as I got to my feet and my heart thumped hard in my chest, that the thing I had seen was danger, pure and simple.

The very next thing I learned in my life, so young and starving, was fear.
I cried out; my tiny bleats floated along the warm currents of air, sharp and piercing, for I was hungry and so very, very afraid, and my wobbling legs could do no more than stand. The world spun blue and silver, gold and lilac; it changed around me, stretched and pulled and became a different place, a different world—but it mattered not. I cried out, not knowing what else to do, not knowing how to erase the smudge of shadow in my eyes that would haunt me forever, in the waking dreams of sleep; I did not know that I would be cursed with this fear forever, or that the only true, real moments I had known my mother was as a corpse upon the ground.

I cried; I cried and cried, not knowing who would hear me.

talk talk talk

image credits

Hotaru the Valkyrie Posts: 295
Outcast atk: 7 | def: 10.5 | dam: 3
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3hh :: 6 Years 3 Months HP: 67 | Buff: NOVICE
Alice :: Royal Hellhound :: Acid Brit
It always came back to the island. It was where the first death had been, where they all had thought peace reigned. Of course it seemed the gods no longer thought they were deserving, or perhaps they had somehow broken their trust and good graces. Hotaru followed the call of her quest, dreading what lay at the end of a broken road. What always lay at the end of that same, old, broken road. At times she hated to Goddess, but she also respected the fact that her desire for a destructive magic led to her having to face the destruction of other things. At least it had forced her to be aware of what was transpiring in Helovia.

What she hadn't anticipated finding was another orphan.

Hotaru had always had a bad habit of taking in strays. It had started with herself, truly, then expanded to Tingal. It was why she only had one blood daughter and yet three daughters relying upon her in the northern reaches of her home. So as she came upon the scene and found a dead mother and a newly born child...her heart tore and she wanted to cry. Raeru was hard enough to find, coated in blood and half-dead. How was she to desecrate the babe's mother and comfort her at the same time? The similarities were far too strong.

Hiding from the little one's view she stepped closer to Circe, a mare she'd known only by name when they'd lived in the Foothills together. A few threads of mane later, and she bit hard into the snake bite she found, disrupting the pattern with the bluntness of her own teeth, tearing away at the tiny punctures. Tucking away the locks she moved towards the babe, a coo rising in her throat towards the little one. It stills abruptly as she smelled something on the downwind, something far too close to the mother's scent. Perhaps it was the father? She does not want to have him challenge her, try to kill her as Gaucho had, just out of a misunderstanding. Why was it always her, damn it? She didn't want the newcomer to believe that she was the murderer, but her job was already done. A brief wave of bitter joy rushed through her, wanting to shove it in the stupid stallion's face that had come up to her after she'd found Psyche dead.

"Hush, child," she murmured. "It will all be alright. Someone is coming for you." Could she even understand? Why did Helovia always take away those that were required to heal, to help? Why were so many orphans being made? Why had she been made an orphan? It was beyond fair, and she couldn't help her indignation, her pain. The little one didn't even know all that she'd lost. She wouldn't for a while, or even at all if her newborn memories washed away as they so often did. Yet another cruelty placed upon the babe that she'd never understand.

Hotaru backed away swiftly, the sand leaving her hoofprints to mingle with those of the killer. She wanted so badly to comfort the babe further, to feed her as she had Raeru, but she valued her life. Telling herself the child would be okay, she slipped away into the shadows and disappeared.
[Image: 515265280ffff]

::Strong like the sea is stormy::

Please only tag starting posts, spars, and threads collecting dust!
Plot with me here!

Reginald Posts: 165
Hidden Account atk: 4 | def: 7.5 | dam: 7
Stallion :: Hybrid :: 17.1 hh :: 3 HP: 64 | Buff: NOVICE
Ka'Mate :: Harpy Eagle :: None & Ka'Ora :: Harpy Eagle :: None M.E.

Some say you're trouble, boy Just because you like to destroy All the things that bring the idiots joy Well, what's wrong with a little destruction?

He hears.

He does not care, at first.

To him, it’s naught more than the bleating of some brat, some lost little child who has wandered into the pits of hell, ignorant and vexing. Children die, especially in the grips of flame, he remembers; or, perhaps, he is the only one who brings a fiery death to infantile delinquents? The play of his thoughts amuses him; wring a chuckle from his breast. It is late, his eyes crave rest, and the peaceful island abhors him just as he abhors it. He would move on.

It is the blood that catches his interest; heady and sudden, iron and everywhere, familiar in a way he cannot allow. He stops, body going stiff, electric. The cries of a child pierce the night once more, and blood is there, somewhere, where the child resides. He cannot sanction the familiarity of the blood, the way it makes his gut twist, the thoughts that rush upon him in the night. He grits his teeth; cool fire races in his breast. He will go see this child, see the blood where it lays. This rumbling misgiving in the back of his mind will end, and he will have peace.

He goes.

He sees the child.

He sees his mother.

The world stops.

Noises cease; scents die; his vision fades to black. A child stumbles in the blood of his mother, stumps about the corpse of a mare that had eluded him so many times before. Everything ends; for the first time since the birth of the Grey-Eye’d prince, some icy blast of water has succeeded in dousing the flames that burble and boil in the kiln of his fiery spirit. The magma of his rage turns to coal and splintery rock; the fires of his passions drown in this cold something, and soggy ash is left in its wake. His blood freezes; it does not pump about the awesome power of his body, for it is meaningless, all meaningless, for the breath has frozen on his lip, and his mother is dead.
His mother is dead.

Some call this place a paradise--the place of the gods, something divine. What he sees is the mare who gave him life laying there, a corpse, a fucking bloodless lump of useless organs. She is dead the moment he catches her scent, after seasons of searching, moon-cycles wasted and gone in pursuit of a carcass. His eyes stare, inscrutable; his body is still, a golem; not even the wind stirs the tips of his mane, the feathers of his feet. He only stands there. He only stares.

He’s still staring when it brushes against him

It’s covered in his mother’s blood and her water, her heavy scent. It’s small, piteously small, delicate in a way that he despises. Its tiny cries pierce his ear; his numbed brain begins to spike in pain. He looks down upon this child, a child that bumps against him, ignorant and beseeching, looking for a thing he cannot provide, abhorrent in its weak, deplorable gender.

He looks down upon his sister.

The world tentatively begins anew; it creeps a cycle he ignores.

He can breathe, suddenly; it comes in warbling gasps as his sister nudges him, searches around him, tiny and helpless, a walking cry for hunger. He can see again, with eyes that unfreeze from his sockets; the wind begins to move and tousle his mane, to gambol about the cotton-like tufts of the child’s hair. The scents of other, lesser vermin are dead in his nose--for his eyes, his ears, all of him, every iota of his body are tuned only to his sister. His sister--he does not know what it means, for him to have a sister. He cannot tell what the world is trying to say, that fate has taken away his mother, and granted a sister of all things.

A starving sister, whose milk has been lain to rot.

Rotting in paradise.

“Come,” is the whisper from his maw, ragged and unsure for the first time in a long while. It comes to him--she comes to him, at his word. He does not understand what is happening, now. He knows that she must eat.

"talk talk talk"


--Please tag REGINALD in every reply!

--All force is allowed to be used against this character!

Archibald the Dauntless Posts: 386
Absent Abyss atk: 6.0 | def: 9.5 | dam: 8
Stallion :: Equine :: 18.3 hh :: 10 years HP: 80 | Buff: SHIELD
Loretta :: Alaskan Malamute :: Time Slip Time

nothing can compare in this world to you

A familiar fire washed over Archibald and caused his heart to skip a beat, the worry filling the crevices of his heart and mind. It was time. He needed to return to the Island, to his mare, to Circe, his perfect, forgiving, strong mate. Hooves and paws alike beat the earth ferociously, blood pounding to deafen their ears. Panic began to flood Archibald's galloping frame, transferring down well to Loretta. The feeling was familiar, he had felt it on the day of premature snow, running through the forest of his Windtossed Foothills...only to find his nightmare, played out in flesh. No. Loretta snapped, pushing faster at Archibald's side. The stallion was already drenched in sweat, heart slamming against his chest, damn near rippings straight through his flesh to fall to the ground in a bloodied heap. A grimace ripped across Archibald's face, determined to be there in time. To be there to support Circe, to help her mind and ease her pain, as he had attempted to do at the birth of their sons.

But, alas, the Dauntless and his bitch were too late.

The pair stopped, as if they had hit a brick wall. Loretta, in a red and white clump, collapsed to her side, panting furiously, unable to fully catch her breath. Archibald stood stark still, unable to breath at all. The world came crashing in around him, the terrain spinning and the sky opening up to a swirling whirlwind of stars. He felt weezy, weak, ready to topple over and succumb to death. Reality shot Archibald in the chest, a shell dropping in the distance and leaving an echoing thwap as it hit the ground. Archibald went to step forward, but stumbled, barely able to catch himself, his magic slipping forth uncontrollable and setting the earth to tremble lightly in his presence. The behemoth groaned, a loud, baritone cry of anguish and despair and defeat.

This was torture.

He stumbled forward again, standing at the head of his once-mate. Golden eyes, throbbing with all the pain his body and mind felt, stared down at the lifeless cerulean he had loved too deeply. He wanted to turn his head and vomit, to escape this place.

This is a dream. This is not happening. By gods--Cir--no--she--NO!

White hot tears bristled at the rims of his eyelids, spilling over to coat coal cheeks with no warning and no inhibition. For the first time in his entire life, the Dauntless cried. His body trembled, shaking violently as sob racked his form. Even as his body shook and he tangled himself around his firstborn the stallion did not cry, but even the depths he had felt on that day, in the drizzling snow, did not compare to the overwhelming agony that ripped through his very being right here, right now, standing over the blue-grey body of his mare. Loretta, crushed and completely ripped apart by the intensity of emotions of the situation, merely lay still where she had fallen, sobbing into the dirt. However, she pushed herself up, willing herself to go be with Archibald, to stand with him, give him strength, something.

Loretta approached, slowly, head low with tears stinging the amber, and she stopped. The cries of the child made the bitch focus her eyes, lift her head, and begin to yip wildly. ARCHIBALD! THE CHILD!! AND REGINALD!

In an instant, the world became a vaccuum and Archibald was its center. Snapping his massive head to attention, molten gold eyes focused on the child. His child. Their child. Oh, Circe... And guiding her, was his hellion son, the eldest boy, Reginald.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the Dauntless gasped for his breath. "Macaria," He spoke her name--voice stable, steady, strong, despite the shaking of his body and the lump in his throat. Shaking limbs close the distance between him and his daughter, and slowly, the shaking dissolves into nothing.

The filly has been born, and she is strong, and she needs him.

The agony still throbbed in his chest, but looking down at this perfect creature gave him steadiness. "Macaria, hush, shhh, Daddy is here..." Archibald's eyes flick to Reginald, daring the boy to move the child away from him. It was merely a flashing warning before the Dauntless centered his attention on the filly, leaning down to rub his nose down her mane and spine, a comforting massage.

Loretta, unable to concentrate on the joy of the perfect daughter, turns, circles, ready to defend the helpless doe and her massive father, and her amber eyes fall on Circe's fatal wound. Archibald, bite.

Image Credits

Through the ages of time
I've been known for my hate,
but I'm a dealer of simple choices;
for me it's never too late.

please tag me

Official Posts: 847
Stallion :: Equine :: ::

The marks of the snake bite are now distorted by the imprint of Hotaru's teeth!

Jorogumo Posts: 70
Hidden Account atk: 4 | def: 7 | dam: 7
Filly :: Unicorn :: 15.3 hh :: 2 HP: 62 | Buff: NOVICE

The hurt the head forgets, The heart will always remember

Jorogumo scoured the island for some kind sign of the murderer. She was swiftly coming to believe that it wasn’t some kind of physical power, and she knew Reggie’s game was coming to a bitter end. All along she had been right. She had questioned while the other boys had followed blindly. They were nothing more than idiots in the end . The spider could hear the sound of a babe’s cry and for a moment she considered shrugging it off. She considered walking away and letting the mother deal with whatever the child wailed about, and yet she could feel her a tug at her heart strings.

When she walked toward the group she wasn’t the first to arrive near the child. Reginald was already there as well as a hulking stallion, who already had taken to comforting the babe. She gave out a gentle sigh and she couldn’t hide the pain from her face. One ear swiveled against her skull. Comfort and wiping away tears wouldn’t help the child live. She wanted to rebuke them for their idiocy and demand they feed the filly not coddle her. But let the family deal with their child how they wish. She stepped toward the corpse and studied it with intent, forgetting about the others around her. Bite marks. She was right. All this was, was a mortal trying to play god. Jorogumo snorted and then began to walk away, but stopped and turned toward the stallion.

Her conscious wasn’t letting her walk away. The spider sighed and turned her body back around and walked toward the child. “Let me help find her food. That way you won’t have to leave her.”

"blah blah blah."

Image Credit

Icon by Bronzehalo

Abraham Posts: 113
Absent Abyss atk: 4.5 | def: 8.0 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Hybrid :: 17.3 hh :: Three years HP: 71 | Buff: NOVICE
Gwyneverre :: Plain White Dragon :: Fire Breath & Brienne :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Frost Breath Time

Abraham had been following Reginald's scent, and Gwyneverre was scouting for the Grey-Eye'd prince from the skies. She was the first to spot him, but Abraham was the first to hear the child's cries. Massive, but young, the yearling leaps forward to close the distance between him and the bleating. Blood enters his nose and mouth, and he continues on faster, wondering if, once again, he would stumble upon a scene of death.

Abraham did, in fact, stumble upon death. But it did not bring him satisfaction.

As if he had been punched in the gut, the darkling prince is suffocated from the sudden loss of air. His mother lay in the dirt, dead, body dishevelled. This was not the strong beauty he knew, not the woman that had brought him and his brother into the world, had trained them, taught them, protected them, loved them. She was a shell, a carcass, a remnant, a whisper of her glory, a lifetime ago resting in her cerulean eyes. "Mother..."

Swooping from the sky, Gwyneverre grasps her bonded's twin horns, and gives a call to the others, sending mismatched eyes to land on the two others in his life he loved. "Father...Reginald..." He whispers, moving forward on autopilot towards his twin and sire. Eyes widen as they fall on the princess, helpless, crying beneath the Dauntless' behemoth frame. He stops close, but he does not touch the filly. Archibald's shooting glance towards Reginald--the first to come--was enough for the younger boy to know better than to challenge this warlord. "Father, what do we do?" Abraham chimes in again, his voice louder this time, eyes dancing between his wombmate, the filly, and their sire. Panic raced in Abraham's mind, mixing with the sorrow of losing his mother.

Abraham looks up to Jorogumo, responding to her. "She needs Mother." His voice trembles with anger, tail lashing against his hocks. "A wetnurse." He finished with, jaw dropping as he turned his attention away from the foolish bitch back to his sister.

Image Credit || by: sevin!

Holy water cannot help you now
Thousand armies couldn't keep me out
I don't want your money
I don't want your crown
See I've come to burn your kingdom down

pixel by tamme

Lena the Songbird Posts: 663
Aurora Basin Time Mender atk: 4 | def: 10.5 | dam: 6.5
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 :: 6 HP: 69 | Buff: NOVICE
Imogen :: Common Kitsune :: Fire Heather
She was so tired of death. It held them all, binding and controlling, stifling and smothering, and served a constant reminder that everyone’s endurance, ability, and strength came to an end. To a wide-eyed dreamer who yearned for naught more than repose, than renewal, than ebullience, the world had shifted to constant condemnation, to unyielding damnation, and covered her jubilant essence with downtrodden, suspicious sentiments. They’d all been forced to see their loved ones perish, the perpetrator still unknown, wandering the halls and valleys and parlors hoping to find one more clue, one more hint, of how and why all of this had occurred. Like another form of pestilence, they’d been diseased and maligned to presume, deduce, and suspect everyone, to forget about safety, to trace over foundations and lines long since buried. They too were ghosts and wraiths, phantoms and poltergeists, wayfaring detectives consumed and devoured by the deadly invocations and rites; even the Songbird had been ensnared into spectral wishing, into longing, for the tyrant to be found. Now her gaze had narrowed into naught more than protective stances and aspirations of grandeur, too far-gone to be remembered or granted again. Even as she drifted, the familiar faces poked and prodded her thoughts, vast images of fallen comrades and innocent children: Psyche, freed from demonic trappings only to be felled by the unknown, Ode, slain because he’d been closing in on secrets.

This time, the lithe nymph didn’t recognize the victim or her family. It didn’t ease the sense of pain, of recollection, of burdens, and she stayed, strayed, to the far back of the whimsical island (what an anomaly it had become; once a promise of sanctuary and all it could offer in the present was death and delusion). The only one she recognized was Jorogumo, all grown up and ivory-eyed, and even then she didn’t approach the grieving cluster. The awful, bitter, rancorous edges seethed and seized, pulled and pushed, and all she could do was stare upon the prone body, marked by some noxious bite mark, lain amongst the runes, another casualty of mysteries and warrens. How many more times would they fail? Her gaze dropped and she just listened to the wind, to the warbles, to the offers of finding a mother for a filly, and while she couldn’t bestow or grant any of those things, she drummed a quiet, crooning serenade. It whistled and waned, alive and nurturing, assuaging and soothing, across the vivid isle, hoping it could bring comfort in the horrific blight.

[Team Healers and Thieves!]

Kiara Posts: 171
Deceased atk: 4 | def: 9 | dam: 6
Mare :: Equine :: 13.2hh :: 5 Years HP: 64 | Buff: NOVICE
Keiran :: Black Panther :: Stormcall Emily

Life and death. It seemed so many were walking that thin line these days. When Kiara wasn't lost in her own mind with her bonded Keiran, she was looking after her youngest child. Her little Vitani. The filly was perfect in almost every way. The perfect mix of both her and Rostislav. Today, the trio headed for the floating island. Kiara wanted to escort her ever adventurous daughter around. After all, she had watched her eldest son be murdered because she was not there to save him. We weren't there. Not just you. That's in the past. Focus on her. Keiran chimed in her mind. He was right after all. She didn't need to focus on that now. Not when there was a murderer running loose....

As the trio floated up on the clouds, the red roan watched as her daughter looked around eagerly. The moment they could step to the land the child was off bounding around. Keiran quickly followed, hoping to keep the girl from harm. None were expecting what they saw next...

Another murder.... Plus two you won't be glad to see.... But there is a babe.... Come quickly Keiran's words in her mind startled the roan. She moved forward, quickly finding the scene. She stepped beside her young daughter, trying to tuck her to her side. Keiran stood on her other side, protective as always. As she arrived she caught the words of the colt with the white dragon. Green eyes stared at first, taking in the shock of seeing the two colts who had murdered her son.... But it seemed karma had caught up with them.... As it was their family who lay dead. Keiran's keen eyes spotted some kind of bite mark. He couldn't tell exactly from what, not from here. You'll have to get closer... Or ask them. Instead Kiara spoke softly, speaking to the oldest of the stallions gathered as she figured him to be the father... Of both the colts and the filly. The filly who would never know the touch of her mother. Maybe... I could help? Her eyes looked from the stallion to the filly. After all, she was the Earth Medic. She couldn't just let the filly die.... Even if she was the sister of those... No. I just gave birth myself not to long ago... Perhaps she could.. I could be the wet nurse as he called it. She glanced to Vitani. She would make the child share. After all, she had nursed twins and an orphaned filly last year... Her own daughter and another surely would have enough this time.

Typi non habent claritatem insitam; est usus legentis in iis qui facit eorum claritatem.

[Unorthodox Four]

Image Credit

The Heart is Wiser than the Mind

Please Tag Kiara in All Posts
Permission granted to use magic or physical force with Kiara at any time for any reason to any degree, with the exception of killing her.

Ampere The Mother of Companions Posts: 719
Dragon's Throat Sultana atk: 9 | def: 11 | dam: 4.5
Mare :: Pegasus :: 14 hh :: 6 years HP: 73 | Buff: DANCE
Kygo :: Green Cheek Conure :: None Blu
With a fire in my bones and the sweet taste of kerosene

Ampere never did anything in half measures, so when she decided to be a mom, well she fucking momed it up. Never mind how old her kid was, or how capable he was (he's capable of EVERYTHING AND ANYTHING JUST LIKE A NORMAL FOAL ALRIGHT!?), if she thought it was what they should do, they were doing it. If he struggled at all, she never considered if it was a typical struggle for any foal, instead she saw it as the horrific weakness he had been born with, the one she was determined to have him overcome. These efforts were only aided in ignorance with Ampere's career, a role which ensured her physical fitness.

To begin with, she'd teach him how to fly. He didn't need both wings for that, not here anyway. This island will finally be good for something Ampere thought with grit and determination. Maybe his experience of flying on the clouds would cause his other wing to grow? Worth a shot. In the mean time she couldn't fly, which wasn't making this whole motherhood thing any more appealing. She wasn't one to back out though, certainly not from this, not now.

"Stand on the cloud," she instructed to the bay colt, although she didn't really know how to use it because she never had. She didn't mean to either. As soon as it started to work she took of running and jumped onto her wings, flapping and flying up alongside him. "See how great flight is!?". She called out to him, as if he had chosen to ground himself (and her), and that all he needed was some reassurance that the sky was better, that he was wrong, that it wasn't scary. Maybe some part of her knew she was being foolish, but desperation has a way of making on stupid.

Finally, they reached the plateau of the top of the island. Before her very eyes the beautiful paradise granted by the gods unfolded in all their mysterious glory... and so did a corpse. Ampere had already landed, but saw it on her way down and halted abruptly, hooves teetering on the edge of the terrain as fear clawed its hellish way up her throat, snagging all the air out of her lungs. No! her mind shouted, the echo reaching her widened eyes. This is not when he should learn about death. Not how either!. It was horrible, awful, and... familiar. Blue eyes squinted, recognizing the face that lay cold and lifeless against the grass. Forgetting her son she swept towards the body on quick steps.


The name of the mare, the mother, escaped her (as did so many others), but the face haunted her memories and now she was sure, her nightmares. This was the first body she recognized, and it only made the truth of her murder that much worse. Ampere had sworn to bring justice, and what had she done instead? Nothing her mind answered for her. Nothing but talk, and look, but to what end? Each time racing back with clues to companions growing increasingly distant, and all the while none having any notion of the killer, despite the rising tickle of worry that it was the very father of her child, the holder of her heart, the king of her desert. It cannot be HIM her loyalty admonished. Ampere shrunk away from the downed friend (had they been as much?), eyes finally parting from the snake bite on her neck in the last instant.

They turned instead towards the grieving family. Ears twitched, recognizing the hungry cries of a new babe. Sounds which were quieted beneath the helpful offer of another mare already come, her kindness already extended. Ampere lingered awkwardly behind the group, watching with little control the grief that ran through them all like an electrical current. The two colts (stallions?)... they had been babes when she'd first met Circe. Grown, changed, but she was sure that they were the ones in the grass. Although Kiara had already put a voice to her milk, Ampere felt the need to offer her friend something in penance for her failure to stop this killer. It wasn't justice, but it was milk, and that should be enough for now.

"I have milk too..." she murmured to them, stepping closer, though slow as to not crowd them. "I can't... can't" she fumbled to say it, because she was struggling to even give this much, but she swallowed it down and pressed on. "Care for her, but she can drink now. There are many new foals in the Dragon's Throat, so there are mares to watch over her and nurse her. There is warmth." Ampere exhaled, glancing at the child and her brothers, then finally at Archibald. She remember him too, in the War effort during the darkness. He just lost his lover, didn't he? Ampere couldn't even begin to imagine...



Team Justice League

Tag me only if starting a new thread.
Magic or force permitted any time, aside from death.

Macaria Posts: 57
Mare :: Unicorn :: 17 hh :: Three Years [Birdsong]


Palest Shadow; Darkest Light

I….would giggle, actually, if I were to think about the first time I met my Big-Big Brother—that is, if it weren’t so heartbreaking of a meeting. I don’t actually remember any of these things; my brothers told me the story, as well as Father. They told me so that I would know how I came to be in this world, that I would know the beauty of my Mother—and how awful, awful, awful her passing was, the lost chance of our meeting.

They tell me I had stumbled around, tiny and helpless as anything; I had touched Reginald first, quavered my way toward him, knocking against him, his greyness, the stone-like lines of his body in search for something that would soothe the stinging ache of hunger that gnawed my belly. Of course I know better now, that one should not look for woman’s milk anywhere near the person of a man—but I was a babe, barely even swaddled, and he was the first warm body that I touched, that would touch me. I probably didn’t cease my bleating, even with a touch that would become so comforting to me later, later.

I don’t suppose he knew what to do with me. Poor Brother, but I know how Reginald can be when it comes to little children—clueless and short-tempered, I’m sorry to say. I cannot guess how patient he was with me, a tiny little ball of fur searching him for a full teat. Oh my—but how ridiculous that thought is! He was saved his dignity, luckily, by an even larger shadow, a monolith of onyx and ivory with eyes of molten gold, rumbling something gruff and smoky that rumbled in ways that I couldn’t fathom.


He named me, then. He took me into his embrace, whispering things into my ear, nonsense that I wouldn’t be able to sift through in my own memories. But he named me, then. Macaria. In those moments, nestled as I was against my father’s bulk—I would suppose I felt his heart beating, beating, beating in his chest, the world rumbling into ruins with the strength of his misery. I didn’t know Father was in misery, then—I only knew I was hungry. I confess I must’ve knocked into him as well a little bit, searching for some treasure that instinct told me I must retrieve. But I had wobbled so much, my legs weak with the effort and the crying of fear; I toppled at my father’s feet (they tell me I did it with a squeak) and I lay there for some time, most definitely confused by my falling, disoriented by my persistent hunger-pains.

But there was the third thing I was learning in my lifetime: the shade of Father, strong and resolute above me, balm to the terror that reigned supreme in my blood. They didn’t tell me this part—there was no way they could ever, ever know this part. I know it deep in my soul that it was this moment that I learned the safety of my Father; the warmth of him, the strength I could pull from him, that he offered me. The assurance that I would never, ever be alone.

talk talk talk

image credits

Reginald Posts: 165
Hidden Account atk: 4 | def: 7.5 | dam: 7
Stallion :: Hybrid :: 17.1 hh :: 3 HP: 64 | Buff: NOVICE
Ka'Mate :: Harpy Eagle :: None & Ka'Ora :: Harpy Eagle :: None M.E.

Some say you're trouble, boy Just because you like to destroy All the things that bring the idiots joy Well, what's wrong with a little destruction?

The tentative whirl of the world around him is meaningless. It is grey, lackluster, tasteless on his tongue. He breathes; the air is stale. He hears his father as though from nowhere, moaning and lamenting, the tears of the great obelisk doing nothing to stir the Grey-Eye’d prince’s deepest recesses; he does not remember his father approaching.

It begins, little by little, the beating of the earth, the tiny, imbecilic rhythms that guide life through all its mediocrity. It buzzes around him, stupid and infuriating—but he cannot feel the fury that should surely be rising within his gut at this time. He cannot feel that passion, the frozen things within, the stirring of his perfect wrath that had never been tamed in living memory. It is not tamed today—it is subdued, defeated by whatever he feels as he looks down upon a fragile thing, a glass-spun filly that carries his mother’s scent, her likeness and her blood. He does not know what this thing is that he is feeling.

It causes the beating of the earth to become stupid; infuriating. Grey, lackluster, tasteless.

He is helpless before the spell of this curious creature that nuzzles him hesitantly, gentle in its smallness. He is consumed within the amber eyes, imprisoned in the glint of her miniscule horn that buds from her forheead; he is ensnared by the graceless legs that tremble beneath her, enchanted by the tiny tufts of hair that that adorns her short neck, the promise of his mother’s graceful lion’s tail that she sports. She. His sister.

His sister.

Even when she stumbles her way to the shadow of his—her—their father, he cannot tear his eyes away; the Dauntless’ warning goes unheeded, unneeded. He is utterly stupefied by the creature’s tragic beauty, that absolute perfection that he finds hidden in every over-large joint that bends and creaks. He does not know how far he’s fallen in such a short time, the fall of his mother, the fall of a sister that he did not know was possible.

Then….the bubble begins to fade. Not pop, but fade.

They begin to swarm. Creatures, vermin, ingrates, the lesser--he can smell them, their greasy sweat so much like the odor of swine in the mountain passes. They begin to crowd around them, his mother, his sister. Ah, but there it is: the pulse of fury rises quickly within him, buzzing and without restraint, for the spell of his sister has broken all and every defense he has built within himself, against himself.

Everyone here will die.



*”Maybe... I could help?”*

His eyes snap upward and away from the dazzle of his sister—his sister-- and they settle, wild in their anger, upon a poppet of a mare, barely any size to her to speak of. It is cold, this fury, glinting in flint and jagged daggers—he is insane with his rage, his chest heaving, his nostrils snorting, quivering, a roar clawing up his throat—he hates, he hates, he will kill them, all of them, for intruding upon his devastation.

His sister.

He closes his eyes; he breathes. It is some moments before the anger recedes—not forgotten, but shut away someplace that had become unhinged. He pauses; the wind stirs, he hears his sister squeal as she falls to the ground. He thinks.

He thinks.

He opens his mouth to address the tiny mare—but he is stopped short by another one, a black and blue wretch who is barely any taller than the previous, one whom he faintly remembers—the faint recollection pulling at him somehow, tight and miserable that he can’t fathom at that moment. For his thoughts are locked on his sister, and something else this black and blue mare had said as well.

He cannot remember why the Dragon’s Throat is important to him. Nothing is important to him, not now.

Not before M a c a r i a.

“You…you smell of hills, and grassland,” his voice rasps—so different from the rich, handsome thing he has been tuning these days. This voice is dead, and so very nearly gone. “It is further from here than the lands of the Dragon’s Throat…And my si—my sister is hungry now. His eyes cast to the black Pegasus mare, gazing at her briefly. He knows her, somehow. He does.

He turns to his father—sees his sister laying at his feet. The world very nearly stops. Nearly. “I will go with her,” he says to his father. It is not a challenge. It is not a question.

"talk talk talk"


--Please tag REGINALD in every reply!

--All force is allowed to be used against this character!

Ktulu the Constrictor Posts: 509
Outcast atk: 5.0 | def: 9.5 | dam: 6.5
Mare :: Hybrid :: 16.1 :: 7 HP: 70.5 | Buff: ENDURE
Eytan :: Grizzly Bear :: Terrorize ali

when your eyes are red and emptiness is all you know
with the darkness fed i will be your scarecrow</style>

Ktulu's heart hurt for Archibald as she watched the scene unfold before her. Circe was the last that she expected to find dead and it was made all the more tragic that she had recently given birth. All of her children were present and Archi... He had seen far more tragedy in his life than she felt was fair but when was life ever fair? She remained quiet as she approached, reached to touch her muzzle to Archibald's shoulder and whispered a promise. "The one who did this will suffer." She knew all too well the pain of losing someone that you loved having found her own mother murdered a season before. Crimson eyes then lifted to the crowed, dark ears tilted forward as each of them concerned themselves with the young filly.

"Care for her, but she can drink now. There are many new foals in the Dragon's Throat, so there are mares to watch over her and nurse her. There is warmth."

“It is further from here than the lands of the Dragon’s Throat…And my si—my sister is hungry

"Then let her drink now." Ktulu said as she looked to the boy, Archibald's son. "There are mares here willing to feed her, let her drink now and get her strength." Beside her Eytan shifted to look at the filly, remembering when Ranjiri had been that small. He had curled around her and kept her warm during the cool nights and he could do it again. "There are pregnant mares in the Edge who can feed her."

"I will go with her."

To the Dragon's Throat? Ktulu found it strange that the yearling would be so concerned with his little sister. When she had been his age she hadn't been concerned with any foals. She hadn't even been concerned with her siblings and she'd been two when they had been born. "As I said." She shifted her gaze to Archibald. "There are pregnant mares in the Edge who can feed her. She needs a parent. She needs a father to raise her, not a child and not a stranger."

Archibald needed support, he didn't ask for it but she could see it, could feel it and she wanted to help him. She wished that she could offer her own milk, but it had been over two years since she'd had milk. The only thing she could offer him was her support and she did so in a hushed voice that was meant only for him to hear. "Lakota and I will help you, just tell us what you need."

While she spoke to Archibald Eytan moved toward Circe's body where Loretta was standing. His caramel eyes scanned over her body, taking note of the distorted bite wound. 'A bite.' He informed his bonded. 'Looks like snake but not sure. Looks weird.'

Team ATAK:



Icon by Tay

Resplendence Posts: 466
Hidden Account atk: 4.5 | def: 8 | dam: 5.5
Mare :: Equine :: 14.1 hh :: eight (ages in frostfall) HP: 62 | Buff: NOVICE
Valiance :: Common Red Dragon :: Fire Breath Abba
it's what you feel but can't articulate outloud

Anger, it radiated through her veins. She had been made useless. For so long she had seen herself as a weak flower with little purpose but decoration. For so long she had suffered from pain and an overactive imagination that tore sleep from her clutches as if it were stealing candy from a baby. It was a sickening feeling, a broken emotion that had spilt all over her, soaked in and taken what was left of her identity. But in these past months she had seen herself differently. And when they had stripped her of the one thing that had given her the identity she needed she shattered before the glue could dry.

But now? Now it was different. The glue had dried in different places and she was tired of everyone thinking that she couldn't serve any GOD DAMN purpose. So she was wallowing in her anger, allowing it to build in a way that was only going to cause her to shatter even more when she finally blew. But she didn't know how else to deal with it. She didn't know what else she needed to do. So she went to the island, moved around, until she stumbled across an area with another body just laying there completely lifeless.

And it's Archibald. He's standing over the body - but from the way that he is acting, no he didn't kill her. He was crying, shaking, trembling - he was not something that could crush her any longer, he was just as weak as she. But they didn't see him as useless? Why couldn't she been seen as helpful, as something the herd needed? Couldn't they understand a soft touch, a mothering voice, a careful caress, and the nervous knowledge that was wound up inside of her was something some people needed? She choked, body moving forward as Valiance swooped down over the bodies, inspecting the dead frame and seeing the distorted form of a bite upon the neck. Res came, a fair distance away from Archibald and Ktulu. "Bites. Sharp, only two… but strange… changed…" Valiance says, coming to land upon Res' back.

Her hard eyes shift between the group - a child that would have been fine had it had a mother. But her children… they hadn't been fine and they'd had a mother. He doesn't want her there anyways. She doubted anyone from the Grey wanted her there. She was useless to them. So, she merely dipped her head in an apology for the loss of a loved one - no words could be said that would fix that wound, she already knew it too well. And so, she retreats - far away from the group to mourn the loss of her original mate and her twins.

Since when had the world broken so?

World's Edge Sweethearts
- Res
- Kahlua
- Jahzara
- Nayati

Credits: Image by Schwartze @ DA
When I'm ready to fall
You're the one always holding me up
With love

d'Artagnan the Nightshade Posts: 364
Aurora Basin General atk: 6 | def: 9 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17hh :: 12 HP: 68.5 | Buff: ENDURE
Aramis :: Common Hellhound :: Hellfire & Superspeed imi

See the life I've had
Can make a good man
Turn bad

The Nightshade watched the scene from afar, the dead mother and the breathing child. Déjà vu took him by the throat and all he could see was his own misery in the sad frame before him. He watched still as the pandemonium over what to do with the newborn foal swept over the company in a scene of heart wrenching drama, but the Doctor brooded over the dead mare with his own beating organ staying at its dull pace. It made him feel better to know that there were others going through pain and suffering, in fact, he wished they’d cry louder to soothe his own soul of grief.

Yet, there was work to be done here and d’Artagnan began to wade his way into the tear stricken desolation and the uncanny amount of mares that seemed to pop up at this very moment. Apparently a defenceless child set off signals in the female brain, they lingered in groups and discussed feeding. d'Artagnan felt his lips curl and he grumbled incoherently under his breath, stifling a suggestion that they should just kill it and get out the way. Instead, he slipped his narcotic magic into bodily fluids; just enough to cause a drowsy affect whilst he crept in and inspected the clue, before swiftly leaving again on cloven hooves, the sleep spell ending as quickly as it started.

As he walked back towards the elevator that took him from Sky Island, he thought about what he had seen and what information he could take back to the band of misfits. A bite, a strange one too. One that had been distorted by another bite; was this the doing of the killer? Or was there an accomplice trying to cover the sloppy work of their master. More than one offender would make things considerably more difficult, especially if there was someone covering it up, the musings made the shade sigh in exasperation. The first bite looked none equine, almost dagger like in appearance with sharp incisions, whereas the second was distinctly a mark of horse teeth.

d’Artagnan mulled on this as he took the cloud back to earth where Aramis, the red marked hellion, was awaiting his friends return.

[EDIT// forgot >< For Team Indignant!]

my heart’s an endless winter
              filled with rage

Use force at your own peril ;) please tag me!

Alysanne the Devoted Posts: 641
World's Edge Queen atk: 7 | def: 10 | dam: 3.5
Mare :: Pegasus :: 16 hh :: 11 years HP: 62 | Buff: NOVICE
Hemlock :: Flammulated Owl :: Heal & Cypress :: Great Horned Owl :: None Sarah
The pegasus came to a stop beside Lena, forgetting in her sorrow to greet her friend as she normally would have. The scene before them was too heartbreaking, too terrible, and she actually knew one of those involved this time. The large captain of the Edge’s warriors was standing with a newborn filly – his daughter. It took a while for her to remember his name, their paths only having crossed at a couple meetings with the herd.


There are others too, that she recognizes. Ampere and Ktulu, both of whom speak. Ampere offers to feed the child, mentions that there are mares within the Throat that can nurse for her, but this idea is not welcome by Ktulu and Alysanne cannot help but agree. She has no place in this family, she’s barely acquaintances with any of them, but she knows that the filly has just lost her mother and that her father lives in the Edge.

The little girl belongs with her father.

There’s no hesitation on her part, she’s always willing to help when she can. It was an effortless decision that propelled her to move a little closer – mindful of her presence and careful to stay respectful. Green eyes slide from the filly to her father and there’s true sadness there. It did not matter that she had never met the dead mare, it was a tragedy still. “Oh Archibald, I’m so sorry. But I can help... if you want.” As her gentle voice makes the offer, she lifts her wings enough to show the beginning tells of her swollen sides. A secret she had not yet shared with anyone except for Miykael.

She was pregnant.

In other circumstances she’d be a little bashful about this method of revealing in the crowd of strangers and near-strangers but right now that was the last thing on her mind. “She can come home to the Edge and stay with you.”

everybody heals with love
Image Credit
table by Sevin <3
please tag Alysanne in replies
[Image: alysanne_by_schwartze-d89se15.png]
made by the lovely tamme
non-life threatening physical force is allowed at all times, but preference is to be checked with beforehand for any injuries
Ascended Helovian

Midas the Gallant Posts: 1,164
Stallion :: Pegasus :: 14.3 hh :: Immortal :: Soul is 7 (FF) Buff: HUNTER
Fina :: Common Zephyr :: Phoenix & Wakiya & Neve :: Common Zephyr :: Arctic Angel

Another death. Another preventable life given in vain. This sad looking body was surrounded by a hoard of well meant mother's and onlookers who aimed to poke their snout where it shouldn't have to belong. I sighed wearily, sick of grief and being forced to look on in silence. Purposely keeping my distance as they discussed (yar, gossiped.) There was little else to do, aside from waiting for this mob to clear out; hopefully one of those pressing females would lay claim upon the innocent newborn. No fresh babe should have to witness the passing of a parent.

When a clearing was at last made, I slipped in silently; mindful of my company. A quick visual scan showed hardly any sign of struggle or life silencing wound. Dark crown dipped lower, angling toward those glassy gems before sinking further to scent the dirt around her face and neck. Further inspection revealed miniscule traces of blood far below the chinline. and tiny puncture wounds. A dragon? Nar, they rarely struck with such clean precision. Plus, the wound didn't appear deep enough to cause excess blood to spill out.

Venom. Spiders? Scorpions? A snake? My frown deepened, crinkling the fine lines around my eyes into a furrow. There was only one individual I knew who bonded a serpent. A brother. Nar, had the murderer truly been mortal? Or was this a game? The intent to set our minds upon an individual from our own ranks -- while an unseen evil walked unaccused. Without a word I turned away and trailed to the rear. Gaze shifted south, studying, thinking. Yar...surely... there was an explanation.

Team Midas

I'm waking up to ash and dust

[Image: 5388c9b80fe59]

Archibald the Dauntless Posts: 386
Absent Abyss atk: 6.0 | def: 9.5 | dam: 8
Stallion :: Equine :: 18.3 hh :: 10 years HP: 80 | Buff: SHIELD
Loretta :: Alaskan Malamute :: Time Slip Time

I have so much to say but you're so far away

Loretta inspected the bite which appeared to have ended Circe's life. It was a marked bite with two deeper puncture wounds interrupted by the dull teeth of an equine, ripped at by the pink mare that had been here before. The bitch had seen her bound away, fleeing from the scene. Rage rippled across the cur's chest and she snarled, shaking her head. If the pink mare had been here, Loretta would have torn her limb from limb for such indignant actions. How dare she! Moved by the anger as she was, Loretta needed to tend to her family. Moving, Loretta touched her nose to Eytan's shoulder, thanking the bear in her own way for being there. Eytan meant Ktulu, and Ktulu meant support for Archibald. A sigh escaped Loretta's mouth, rage mixing once more with utter sorrow.

Archibald continued to calm his daughter as she planted herself at his hooves. Golden eyes could not drink her in as fast as he wanted to. She was beautiful, perfect in Circe's demise. How the Shadowmere would have loved this precious angel. The thoughts of his mate, laying cold just feet from him, unable to see her daughter nearly moved him to tears again. Dark lashes, however, blinked them to submission. Clearing his throat, Archibald looked up to see his sons more clearly. "I am sorry, my boys." It was all he could say. He was sorry, sorry that he could not protect Circe. He had failed. Pain continued to hammer at his heart, beating the feeling organ into a pulp. Archibald swallowed back a lump, lifting his head to watch as others came in.

The first mare Archibald did not know, but the recognition that flashes across her eyes when she looked at Abraham did not give the Dauntless comfort. He did not trust this stranger, and he did not want his daughter to drink from her, should she attempt to harm the filly. The second voice that chimed was not any better in Archibald's mind. He only knew the blue winged mare to be volatile. Ampere. That was her name. Archibald had silenced her in the caves during the wraith plague, when he met the company he soon led with Gaucho in the W.A.R efforts. Archibald swallowed again, eyes cloudy with his thoughts, unreadable to those that did not know him. Archibald was not afraid of anything, especially sharing his desires for the future of those in his charge--his warriors and the like. However, this creature, so helpless and delicate beneath his titan frame, was altogether too different. He did not want the girl to have to leave him, and he certainly did not want to place her with a stranger. Reginald piped in, then, thinking over the closeness of the Throat versus the Falls, and asking his father if he could accompany the filly. The Keep her safe. Archibald's eyes narrowed some, the thought of his daughter leaving his side making bile rise in this throat.

Before Archibald can word his peace, however, Ktulu is at his side. He feels her touch him, hears her whisper, and it sends a wave of comfort down his spine. Of all of Helovia, Ktulu was his closest and dearest friend. She was always there to support him, especially now in the time of his loss. Archibald nodded his head in agreement. "My daughter must drink now. Thank you for your kindness." Archibald lowered his massive head down to muzzle the weak, slate-colored girl. However, a familiar voice chimed in behind him. Archibald turned his attention on the winged mare, her familiar green eyes kind. Thank the gods. Alysanne was a member of his herd, someone he trusted with her position on the council. He had not known any ill-feeling to ever harbor in her heart or strike from her hoof, and that made the Dauntless feel relieved. "Alysanne, you savior." Archibald's face relaxed and he closed his eyes a moment, a breath of his newly felt relief falling onto Macaria's back. He nudged the youngling, stimulating her to stand. Should she comply, the Dauntless would maneuver her towards Alysanne.

"Reginald, Abraham," Archibald started, turning his golden eyes to his sons, "She needs our protection, our care, our guidance. The best way for us to give her that is for her to stay with me, in the Edge. She is too small to cross the river that cuts from the ocean, separating this place from the Throat. The travel around the river is great compared to the travel the World's Edge. Alysanne is kind and wise, she is the leader of the healers in my herd, and I desire for Macaria to find nourishment with her, while I am able to protect her fully and unhindered by politics." Golden eyes moved between the boys, waiting for anger to flare up within his volatile grey eyed prince. The boy, with Mandrake's eyes, wanted to shepherd over the girl, and he was so willing to take her to the Throat. Archibald needed his sons to see the logic in this. "She needs to be with me, and you two are welcome in my lands." Archibald finished, lowering his muzzle again to gently massage Macaria and lead her to Alysanne's milk.

Image Credits

Through the ages of time
I've been known for my hate,
but I'm a dealer of simple choices;
for me it's never too late.

please tag me

Abraham Posts: 113
Absent Abyss atk: 4.5 | def: 8.0 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Hybrid :: 17.3 hh :: Three years HP: 71 | Buff: NOVICE
Gwyneverre :: Plain White Dragon :: Fire Breath & Brienne :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Frost Breath Time

Abraham cannot peel his eyes away from his mother after his words. He stares at her, her gaunt body, ripped and demolished by childbirth and death. He feels tear swell and spill over his eyelids, soak his cheeks, and run off the thick of his jowls. He does nothing to stop them, letting the pain escape through the bounty of the salty waterfalls. The leviathan closes his eyes, and Gwyn sings a song of lament, though it is quiet and meant only for them. The youngest son says his last good byes and turns his attention to his remaining family.

Abraham moves to stand with his shoulder pressed against his grey brother's, letting Reginald speak. He offers to follow the filly to the Throat and Abraham nods in agreement, mismatched eyes following up to his father. "I will go, too." He does not challenge the authority of the Dauntless, not ready to feel the sting of that bite. He was a coming two year old, a man, and he knew his father would not be lax in punishment--especially against his offspring. Had the twins been in the position of Macaria, Archibald would act just as ferociously protective.

Abraham turns his eyes down to the grey girl. She was the spitting image of their mother, and a spark of envy popped in the depths of Abraham's chest. She looked like Reginald, his twin, whom Abraham did not resemble in the slightest. Why was nature so weird? Despite it all, the young titan was enraptured by the girl. She was delicate, blown glass beneath three hurricanes. No harm would fall on her, for death would ensue to those that even harboured the thought, dealt swiftly by Reginald, Archibald, himself, or all three. The men would protect the girl. Love her. She was perfect. Gwyneverre lowered into Abraham's forelock, resting her cheek against his horns.

He was brought back to attention by the adults' conversations. He wanted to snarl at them all, he did not know them. He did not trust them. He saw hesitation in his father, until a green eyed, black and white mare stepped forward and offered her services. Abraham's eyes narrowed darkly, but if he trusted anyone in this circle it was his family--and between Reginald and Archibald, the sire was more knowledgeable on the needs of babes. "Reginald...I agree with father. We can go with her there, where we can be together." Abraham turned his eyes to his brother, hoping there would be agreement and grace, but he imagined anger to pour from Reginald's mouth. The grey was not being followed unquestioned, as he was so accustomed to, and Abraham knew too-well the sting of kicked pride.

Image Credit || by: sevin!

Holy water cannot help you now
Thousand armies couldn't keep me out
I don't want your money
I don't want your crown
See I've come to burn your kingdom down

pixel by tamme

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