AHRIMAN

Darkness there, and nothing more

The orange moonlight stretched out its fingers to the youthful ghost, caressing him, reflecting itself in his pale hide. He was a child of summer, unfamiliar with the harsh cold of orangemoon and frostfall. With naive eyes, he watched as the lands turned into fiery shades of orange, red and brown, how the wind was suddenly sharp and he could see his breath on the night air. His curiosity seemed never satisfied, excited to experience this new change on his own body. Ahriman was going through a change within himself as well, growing increasingly independent from his dam, wandering often from her side to explore the world that lay at his feet. This night, she did not know he had gone; he had left her asleep, making sure not to wake her as he snuck off. Mothers weren’t supposed to know everything you did, not to say she wouldn’t let him go anywhere in the middle of the night. Now, he had gotten away, and could finally venture where he wanted.

There was no real reason that he had chosen this exact place. Ahriman liked the rugged grounds, climbing up the narrow path further and further, until he stood at a large, flat field. Never before had he been this far up; had it not been dark, the view would’ve certainly been remarkable, but by the light of the moon and the stars, the lands below had been reduced to faint shadows of black and grey. The pale child stepped daintily, mulberry eyes diverted from the horizon to the plain on which he walked. His childish frame was starting to mature, body filling in to make his appearance less leggy, tresses growing longer and silkier. His coat was growing thicker to prepare for the colder months, yet it still shone brightly under the orange moonlight. Delicate lobes were turned forward as he spotted a stallion, grazing in the night. Ahriman stalled in his tracks, watching from a distance, entirely visible on the flat field as he pondered whether to approach.

At first, he wasn’t sure if it would be a good idea; stranger stallions could be aggressive towards foals as himself, but there was something peaceful about the setting. Clever eyes drifted to a pale shadow, perched on a stone not far from the stallion. A dragon. Ahri felt a smile appear on his lips; and his dam had told him many great stories of dragons from their homeland, and Mirage’s Akaith was always good fun. His curiosity was definitely tickled, wanting to know more about this dragon-wielding steed. So, he set forward again, in a slow stroll. Light glistened in his eyes as he settled for a spot at a polite distance from the stallion, closer to the dragon. He stretched out his maw in a friendly gesture to the small white, seeing that it was as pale as the fur he himself was born to wear. ”I like your dragon,” the babe spoke softly, grave eyes turned to the stallion. Ahriman was very much like a tiny adult in a child’s body; being the first born of a single mother had taught him maturity, even if his mother had not willed it. ”My name is Ahriman,” he said, remembering his curtesies.