They crept like thieves beneath a starlit sky; blunt hooves tracing deer trails and wings gliding gracefully overhead, metallic scales sparkling faintly in what little light the treetops allowed. He didn't know why they came here, of all places at such an hour, because every shadow made his breath quicken and his whiskers quiver. Remembrance? offered the bronze, too young to have felt the fear of his companion, too brazen to be afraid himself. Jackal snorted at such a thought, dismissive and anxious. "Things like that are best kept locked away," he explained, voice frayed, detached. Somewhere in the corner of his eyes a shadow lurched forward menacingly, an inky predator in a sea of diffused greys and golds, the fading stars in their lofty homes above.
Impulses, driven by some primal part of him, sent frantic electric signals to his brain, drawing every muscle taut and forcing the heart to race uncomfortably against his chest.
The red dun found himself suddenly tearing across the forest, dodging trees and menacing red eyes and shades, the white rimming his mercury eyes glittering in the steadily rising light. Thorns and razor-sharp leaves clung to him like needy lovers as he charged clumsily through them, ignoring any suggestion of a path. Dei attempted to trail his bolting friend, too-large wings riding swiftly over a tumbling breeze that rustled branches and bushes like convulsions.
Stop! the dragon cried, his voice grating against every nerve in the appaloosa's body, causing all four limbs to slow, first to a canter and then to a tired trot. In a flash of bold brass, wings sailed quickly to the colt, claws extended gently as the serpentine body lowered himself onto the hot horse. No danger, only shadow. Jackal relaxed.
He moved forward slowly afterward, toward the ever-increasing light. His head was far too heavy to be perched upon the elegant Spanish neck, so instead, it dragged sullenly. Sweat rose from his body in a light mist, capturing the sun in faint gold. Muscles contracted and ached. His hooves felt like they bore all the worries of the world, and really, they did.
'Isilme,' murmured the wind, low and inviting.
Rust-tipped ears flicked forward.
"Isilme," replied the colt quietly, sad and homesick and too curious. He willed himself into a lope, following the cordial hum of distant voices that drew him forward. Thump thump, said cream striped hooves as they traveled and relayed against the soft forest floor. Dei departed from the broad striped back, presumably urged towards the sacred word by his bonded; wings were much more fleet.
The volume of the disembodied voices (female and male) increased as he plunged forward. Soft grey muzzle pushed forward, eager to discover their faces.
Suddenly, there was blue and silver.
Something in his broad chest fluttered. He felt dizzy and brave, like something that was dead in him before was reborn, and it crawled through his heart and up his throat like hope. Legs quickened their pace, eating the ground greedily until the pale blob was distinct. Sunlight swirled in his sterling eyes in vibrant pools of gold and yellow. He owned the world and it surged ever backwards as he approached them, him.
But something was wrong; whether it was the lack of a horn or the bitter look in those brown eyes, the colt slowed, ears tilting backwards in confusion. It seemed as if every hope in his body sunk before it could fly, and he felt damned, like a dream of dust. Over the canopy, a dragon lowed, and Jackal recognized it as a requiem.
Sullen striped hooves approached them, and he felt so exhausted. "Hail!" the dun called hoarsely when he could see the quiver of their nostrils. There was a mare with him, spun gold and white, vaguely familiar; she was with child. He nodded to them, dead leaves protesting beneath his toes as they slowed to a march. "I am Jackal," his voice was strained, but it spoke of the blood of gods and queens and traitors, of too much sorrow and too little joy. Quicksilver eyes, weary but gentle, switch between the duo. His ears had caught glimpses of their conversation, mainly pertaining to the shadow-monsters and their grievances. The stallion was of the Tides, his birthplace and his mother's birthplace, the land where his father had been healer. Maybe one of them would know of his parents - at least his mother? "I was born in Isilme as well," he began, pausing before them tentatively. He managed a tight smile. "Do any of you know the whereabouts of Aёrwen?" It broke him to say her name (he lingered on the soft last syllable, a gentle ending for such a powerful beginning, fitting for such a kind mother and such a brave warrior), and it let back a flood of memories, as golden as the sunlight trickling from between the boughs of pine above. He realized the newness of this stallion which drifted around them like a lost bird. Sheepishly, the yearling gathered himself. "Forgive me for my impudence; welcome to Helovia. Do you seek a place to rest?" Jackal watched the grey inquisitively.
Quietly, Dei descended from the canopy in a rain of yellow leaves and pine needles, spiraling downward gracefully and onto his bonded's back with a soft thud. He wondered about the blue, but Jackal silenced his questions, and the dragon resorted to eyeing Raimo with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity.
Don't hope don't hope don't hope.