Sabre

light the fuse

and burn it up

So my ‘surprise’ attack doesn’t have quite the horrified effect that I was going for—the stallion barely even flinches at the mass of vines—but stubbornly, I still hold them to him, the blackness of my lips tightening. One of my ears loosens enough to twitch at his question, and I scoff, one side of my brow rising as though to say o-b-v-i-o-u-s-l-y. It’s not like it’s natural for a throng of thorny vines to erupt from the ground. Still, I manage to catch the hint of praise in his low voice, and I can’t help but fluff up arrogantly. I may be young, and I may be largely inexperienced, but I like to think I’m a force to be reckoned with.

However, my moment of pride is swallowed bitterly when a large—thing—rises to the stallion’s side. “Holy shit,” I grunt with wide eyes, taking in the stone beast with barely-concealed wonder. It is as large as the black stranger himself, with veins of molten magma feeding its rocky body, and it moves with a slow but undeniable power. “You’re doing this?” I’m clearly in awe, eyes glittering with devilish glee, “What is it?” With a barbed vine, I reach towards the stone thing, stroking it. I’m not like my brother—I’m pretty much an open book as far as emotions go; I don’t see any point in masking anger or disgust. Unfortunately, however, I can’t conceal the less heated emotions either.

Only after the fact do I remember that I can’t be so cordial with this guy. Narrowing my eyes and pressing my lips into a severe line, I scowl when he continues. “Why wo—” but my words are cut short, my train of thought evaporating as quickly as it had flared—

“Your brother misses you.”

I’m speechless—which, usually, isn’t an easy feat—but those four words steal everything so easily. “Kid!” I manage to gasp, choking out his name from a throat swollen with emotion, my heart leaping erratically. I’ve missed him too! My soul cries out with earnest desperation, the words screaming from my eyes. The vines having since fallen in my dumbness, I lean a step forward, looking up to the massive stallion. “How do you know him? Is he alright?” The words pour out anxiously, wanting to know every detail and where I can find him.

Instead, the stranger introduces himself. My ears pin impatiently, the curly length of my tail twitching restlessly around my flanks. Volterra; the name means nothing to me. As far as I can remember, I’ve never heard it in my life; and if I have, then obviously I don’t care enough to remember it.

“Your father.”

...

I hesitate, balking for a moment in my anxiousness. “My...what?” I tilt my head, blood-spattered brow knitting together as the word sinks in. (Honestly, it doesn’t take long, saturating the shallows of my heart easily). Unlike my womb mate, I have hardly thought of who our father might have been—I haven’t ever needed him, ma has taught us well, and we can obviously survive well enough without him. Why would he show up now? “How do I know you’re not lying, huh? Where’s my ma? Where’s Kid?” My lips twist with suspicion, and then my face droops with the most disturbing doubt, before hardening into a more violent glare than before. “Is he safe?” I spit the words, and I dare another step forward, scowling up at him without an ounce of caution.


“Speech.”