"You've taken one too many steps, mare," comes the voice of the hunter through the night. It splits the cool air of the birdsong evening with a twanging threat. This is his night patrol, on the edge of his herd lands, and someone has just gone too far into the Falls to be forgiven.

He tries to remember the things he has been taught. Like a dog on a leash, he struggles against discipline but repeats it in his mind. Diplomacy first, manipulation second, violence if needed comes third. Knox isn't sure if he'll be a good enough boy to hold still and ask questions, though. He can't promise that he won't just shoot first.

She is hard to miss, but he isn't. In the nighttime, in his home and element, under the cloak of his magic, he is invisible until he chooses to be seen. And when he does reveal himself it is with his mangled mask twisted to face the intruder, his bloody-red lip shriveled upwards in a half snarl of a frown. Half of his face, gone with the power of dragonfire, but his eye still glows: a mystical, impossible silvery power of smoke.

"Tell me your name and why you have come. I'll decide if you can stay," Knox says sharply, stepping forward and into her space, towering over her. Her unnatural glow illuminates the ripples of his scar and the harsh ridges of his features. The lines etched into his face from years of trauma and anger become deep carvings in stone. There's barely a moment before he pushes his face closer, as if jabbing her with a reprimand, and snaps his teeth down to hiss a command through them: "SPEAK."

This is his house. These are his rules. She has taken one step too far.

—

Knox is a hunter. Knox is a warrior of his own kind. He is hostile, and he doesn't give a shit why she's come here. She's come too far, and now she is going to leave. Why ask her intent, then? Is he just playing with his food or too fickle to maintain his own opinion.

Regardless, he is satisfied by her response: her fear. When she dares to sound irritated, it takes his all to not snap her head off. He draws on the magic of his rank, pulling the words that follow apart, and senses them to be truth. Truth or not, Knox is reluctant to provide her with any information.

He's not that kind of a steed.

"Lucky for you, I know you're not lying. If you'd dared to I'd have your tongue ripped out of your throat, mare." He does not mince words or threats. If he doesn't chase her out, he wants her to at least contemplate running.

"There is a Mountain That Knows," Knox snarls with a heady shrug, being as vague as possible when referencing the herd's storyteller and his father's newfound friend. He has little feelings for the earthen mare, but it seems every ancestor that meets her forms a new one. "Tell me who sent you and maybe you'll be granted an audience," is all he's willing to provide.

He is an officer of intelligence, after all, and he has never been known to make particularly fair trades.

He isn't known for mercy, either, but he does have a reputation to uphold. So when the mare points out flames--flames that instantly spook him and cause a hot spit of terror to surge through him as he is reminded of the monster that burned off his face--Knox does his best to recover. They illuminate the boy easily, and Knox frowns deeply at the sight of an unfamiliar colt on Hidden Falls territory. Another glowing creature trying to sneak in? Still, the silver in those flames suggests a magic that reminds him of his own blinding smoke and he quickly pulls together a crafted excuse.

The hunter moves towards the young one with imperceptibly shaking, horrifying, pounding hoofbeats. His dark frame towers over that of the paint boy. The mare's alertness, her awareness of this little inconvenience, is a disservice.

"Yes, fire. Flames of a rising Hidden Falls warrior. A member of our herd," Knox lies through his aching teeth. Better to act as if this fool is a member than to make it seem as if he's let two slip onto his territory tonight.

Knox's tail lashes and he snaps his gaze to look at the boy, staring him down and hoping he'll do the right thing--play into the lie. "Isn't that right, boy? Born and raised here by me. Raised to keep late night intruders off of our lands," Knox says, sure to make the last part pointed. There's a hesitant note there, something that could evolve into pride if the colt does as he should. He thinks of Milo, his true son, but only for a second.

Milo is a spineless little mute. Will this child be the same, or will he be smart enough to follow a well-crafted lie and save his insolent skin?

—

It was perfect, the way the boy lied. The words spilled from his lips slowly, like the most wicked sort of honey, and Knox had to actually try and suppress a grin. Beneath his dark and tainted lips, teeth that would forever be stained red with blood gripped each other in a hidden smile. But he would never show this mare that he had anything in him other than anger and hate. "Well done, my boy," Knox praises, thinking of how undeserving his own son is of such words.

It was half true, after all. He ran his good eye over the mare, inspecting her every stripe and sinew. On a whim, in a faint daydream, he imagined her dead on the ground. He wondered vaguely who would believe who, or if his actions would be pardoned on the basis of her intrusion. But wouldn't that start a war, and wouldn't the war end all things? Would it really be so bad if it did? He snorted at the thought of it, the screaming and bleeding battlefield of his youth that was now decomposed and covered with flowers. No, these were not the days of the Grey. That violence was, to some extent, behind him now.

The mare put forth names and legend titles, but none of them did anything to impress him. Knox had been in Helovia a long time, and had met many men who called themselves kings as this Temobu did. He was, and always would be, unimpressed. Though Knox did not seek recognition, it was clear to him that he deserved it more than some of the other fools running about this land. What sort of king would send a herd member into the night like this, seeking knowledge? He knows she isn't lying, but that doesn't mean she's smart, and it doesn't mean he has to respect her wishes. After all, she doesn't know that he knows that she's telling the... oh, fuck it.

"Our scholars know much of the world, I doubt they'll find their knowledge so lacking that they must rely on yours. But should they wish to plumb your depths," and this is said sarcastically, bitterly, as if to imply that she is a fool with no depth at all, "then I am sure they will approach you diplomatically, and in the light of day, as allies should. The Elephant King may have sent you on this mission, but he did not judge his audience well. You can return to him with the information that our laws include outsiders wait at the border, and make themselves known with respect." Even the word allies tastes sour on his tongue. Knox looks at Brendan, his gaze steady and encouraging. He has no more time for this mare, but the boy...

Knox flicks his tail dismissively, and then does the same with his head in a dull nod. "Now go. I will send--" Knox pauses, for he realizes in a moment of heartbreak that he can no longer have Manhattan escort the intruder out. He can't have her do anything.

He never could, not really.

"... I will send word of you to the mountain that knows, but I have already given you more knowledge than you need for tonight." He first thinks a threat, but then sees no reason to hide it. "Do not attempt to sneak across our borders again, or I will not show so much restraint. The Dauntless makes alliances with whomever he pleases, but under threat this herd can break them in a heartbeat." His teeth snapped upon the t in heartbeat, as if he really was crushing her heart between them as he spoke. His half silver gaze was unforgiving and cold. Knox would watch her walk away.


—