The spy and her wolf had endured some turmoil since the birth of the mare’s twins. However, not all roses housed thorns and not every star collapsed. Just when the bay had been expecting only spite from the cosmos that ruled her homestead, she finally found solace. It came in the form of a wish that had been granted and a prayer to the Gods for a future much brighter than the one that existed. Essetia had been blessed with magic at the ripe age of seven and she intended (like a child) to use it. Never again would the spy consider herself unarmed and alone when Romul was forced to reside in their desert home whilst his companion travelled throughout Helovia to abide her duties. Instead she’d been given the dormant souls of his kin to summon and dismiss at her leisure. (Of course that’s not to say such power didn’t go immediately toward her big headedness.) It was a temporary fix at best, but the spy was momentarily thrilled by her accomplishments and more than enticed to test her new abilities in a more natural setting.

As she wandered (with Romul once again in tow) through the many copses and glades that thrived in part of the Threshold itself, she hummed a light tune that sounded unnatural even to her own ear. For the first time in quite some time, Essetia did not deny herself the joy of amusement and happiness. Instead of rutting through the sprawling thickets and wild groves, she was content to rove the beaten path. A sense of constancy was needed if she intended to thrum the strings of charm and potential given to her in the Meadow, and so she reached inward to strike the chords. As she and Romul trotted along, their footfall matching a perfect rhythm, Essetia focused all her might into the growing warmth of magic in her chest. It flared and pulsed for a time –a heated sensation that caused her heart to race— and it continued to climb until, finally, it was released.

The mare continued to maintain her choppy pace, but instead of looking onward, she glanced about into the botanic wonderland to glimpse what appeared to be a smoky, black wolf. It did not simply explode into being as she’d expected, but instead seemed to drudge up from the earth itself, yanking and whining, until it escaped its own alternate reality. Romul appeared to notice it as well and quickly yipped toward the other, suddenly elated to be part of a pack that Essetia now headed. The beast was not full and fleshy like his arctic counterpart, but an image that somehow flickered between shades of darkness. It groaned through the hoary boughs before finally picking up speed to draw in alongside Essetia and Romul, a wolfish smile seeming to curve its jowls away from a dim set of translucent teeth. The spy thrummed on as her wolf and his supernatural cohort bounded through the shadows of toil worn trees. If they’d been allowed an eternity to hide away amongst the loamy underbrush and nettle leaves, they would have certainly lost themselves altogether, but as they raced and larked, circling one another in ecstasy, they came upon a startling sight that halted their game in its entirety.

Amid the idle, moss-veiled trunks, a weary traveler awaited his fate in a state of unrest. Without the concentration to nurture the phantom that her earthen magic allowed, the blacken bystander began to uncoil into thick spirals of dusky vapor. The spy watched him go, unsettled, before returning her attentions toward the weakened stranger and all his silken garb. If his life hadn’t already been taken, then it was soon to leave him, which made the situation somewhat precarious in nature. Of course, the spy knew little of bedside manner and attempted instead to prod the gelding awake with a flick of her muzzle against his slender neck. “Are you… unwell?” she queried, uncertainly. She wasn’t yet aware of his needs and in short supply of a healer, so she waited until the wheat-washed stranger could at least account for himself. Romul on the other hand had begun scouting the perimeter in search of the missing black wolf, still unable to comprehend the quickness of his disappearance. As he whined and called for the other, Essetia moved to comfort him inwardly and put him to task should they need water or otherwise. From the cracks webbed across the gelding’s lips, Essetia could only guess that he would indeed need nourishment, but hadn’t the means to collect the fluids without simply moving the man himself. And to do that, Essetia needed first to make sure he was still alive.

Though we’re tethered to the story we must tell
When I saw you, well I knew we’d tell it well

With a whisper we will tame the vicious seas
Like a feather bringing kingdoms to their knees