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Somewhere in the wilderness, the hunter rears with a horrible neigh and the wings of his latest victim slide from his back and strike the earth with a horrific thud, a thin bone breaking as it lands in the shadow of a tightly knit set of trees and out of sight. For these, the murderer will return. But Knox can hardly remember they were ever there, even when their weight leaves his body. There is nothing to hear or understand but an order. Dovev does not whisper as he used to: now, free in his own form, he bellows and screams. His hunger is endless and Knox is his vessel. The power of the murderer is unstoppable--his hunger, his lust, infinite. The wings shift on his back, striking his sides as wind barely lifts them and drops them again to fall. And Knox, Knox is gone. He has returned to the state of the colt he once was. He takes orders, he drinks blood, and he feels his mother's paw pressing his neck down into the earth in the deep woods. There is nothing but his birth and the deaths that happened before it. He is small and weak and meaningless, and the other ancestors too powerless to defend him. It is Dovev alone who steers this ship in the unguided night, fast into the rocks. And it is true that it is still night. The sky above is thick with what the hunter feels is betrayal, even as he cowers in his own heart. Dovev finds his progeny's motivation to be foolish, but if it is what grants him this takeover, he accepts it without a second thought. The snows of the north fade beneath the thundering of an ancient's hooves as the ground softens and a thick sheet of dead grasses blanket the earth. These, Dovev learns from plucking the fruit of his hosts' mind, are the heavenly fields. Knox remains cloaked, but beneath the shadowy guise he snorts at the pure irony of the murderer's presence here. Even Knox, who believes in some way that his great granside lives on in his own mind, knows Dovev resides in hell. Is he, then hell? The hunter exhales and a puff of white stains the black air with a trace of his cold that no other could see. But his eyes, black-blue and filled with deadly desire, are sharp. And his eyes, they are searching. In the dark of the night, he seeks something beyond hunger for the thirst of blood. Now he longs for living flesh: now he seeks a mare of a kind, ripe for him to take. [[Dröm & @[Kaj] only. Full permissions from Baylee for Drom.]] |
