The hunter is surrounded by voices and winces at their prominence. He knows he must return to the shrine of his beloved Moon, but that time will come. There are other things to occupy his mind now- things such as the chase.

Manhattan flies ahead, parting the thistles and weeds as she runs, snapping them at their stems. Her barks are a signal, a font of information on their prey. Perhaps influenced by Zsoka's young mind, Knox feels innocence on the rise. There is still mischief, still a desire to kill that has become omnipresent with his mother's influence, but he finds more fun in it. Fun in the chase and the thrill of the hunt; fun he cannot ever remember experiencing. Perhaps once, long ago, he felt such joy as this. But this is new; from a wealth of knowledge and a new set of perspectives.

Up ahead he hears the sounds of a scuffle, and his pace quickens and steadies to catch up to his companion. But Manhattan stands with jaws empty and an expression of guilt; their prey has been lost to skill. Within him, thoughts swirl and minds meld to argue. Violent Dovev, the murderer, screams into his thoughts, demanding the colt to crush Manhattan for her insolence; Lawful Cem orders a stern lesson. But combating are the gentlest of souls; Anaan the protector and Janos the kind urging him towards forgiveness. The hunter grits his teeth and averts his gaze until one voice speaks out in steady, deep overtones.

All uf us make mustakes, sun.

The aging colt ceases all conversation and debate, for the Sentinel's words resonate. And with the fire of the twins Zekiah and Zsoka, Knox teases his bonded with an upturn of his lips and a gentle shove to her shoulders. All is well and all is forgiven; Knox begins to walk forth through the thistle towards the two figures in the distance, driven by the uncharacteristic curiosity of his youngest ancestor. But Manhattan feels no such peace; Manhattan has seen the monsters in his mind and known the thoughts that plagued him. She has seen the threat of the hurt, and she fears it. For a moment, she fears him.

But nothing can be done, and the young hunter's bright spirits are enough to overshadow his bonded's fear. He whinnies to her, calling her closer as she lags behind, but she still trails after glumly. Returned somewhat to a more stable mind, Knox makes no bold efforts to speak in volumes to the strangers, he simply takes his normal silent note and nods in greeting. The mare who stands by the stream, sturdy with a build similar to his own, has her own crosses to bear; thus us evudunt frum thuh pour mim's traguc stance alun, notes the astute Sentinel. The stallion, too, seems troubled. He is non-threatening in his state of premature decay, but worth recognizing all the same, particularly for his unintentional introduction of the mare.

He steps further into the sunlit meadow's center to meet them by the river, where the water strikes up at its shore and licks his feathered ankles. "Delinne then, I assume?" the stallion comments, turning only to note Manhattan as she at last settles beside him, resting her haunches unhesitatingly on the damp and dirty riverbank. Strange how much simpler it is to converse productively with Huric's smooth, amiable tones guiding him. "I am, uh, Knox," he proffers with hesitation as each consciousness within him jumps to answer the question with their own name. Odd how he never feels alone, now, even without Manhattan, who whines as the thought enters his mind. "And you, sir?" he questions in a low and pleasant voice, with a nod to the grey and red patterned stranger.

The sun falls upon him like a gift for the first time. Never before has life been such a grand thing. And for this, Manhattan is happy. But the darkness and the emptiness is not all lost; in the belly of the soul, the first begins to take hold.

[[Forgive Roanne's accent, for those unused to it. I can translate if need be. Mim= M'am+miss, and is what he calls all mares he does not know the name of. Knox is currently working through the fact that he has the consciousnesses of all of his ancestors in his head (They are listed on his profile page), so that's why there are so many different names and he's acting kinda weird.]]

The hunter feels himself wishing less and less to be in the company of the other stallions; perhaps even the mare, if their behavior is the type she appreciates. It is a bath of testosterone and nothing more- and while Knox may carry the minds of eight other stallions, and while birdsong may be high, he did not feel the urge in the same way that the other two present did. He can see it in their eyes- that craving hunger. He feels only a sickness in the pit of his stomach as it twists and rolls with the new sensation that comes with age and season.

But he has decided already to remove himself from the situation. It is poisonous in its own way- perfectly harmless in some lights, but dastardly and others. And with such wicked minds resting behind his eyes, he is not sure that he entirely trusts himself, either. Manhattan senses his unease and rises in expectation of his action; she knows it is time to leave just as well as he.

The young stallion's gaze catches Delinne's and wavers there. He wonders what is beyond her eyes; if there is sadness there, or insanity. Or perhaps simple and uninteresting vapidity. But whatever it is, he won't find out now- not with the stallions Azzaron and Valentine flitting about her like cupid as he stands apart from them, seeming almost dejected as he refuses to play their little game.

He turns from them without thinking, banishing from his mind the mannerly and moral Huric that tells him to put his hatred aside. Young Zsoka's petty ways overtake him, and he almost leaves in silence. It is Roanne who forces him to do the right thing.

"I should leave you all to your devices," he utters in a low voice; charming in its demure manner, but clear evidence of his tendency to shy from social engagement. He would have left it there, but, well- she had been so glad to meet him. It would be rude, Huric chides him in a stern voice. "Perhaps some other time, Delinne," Knox offers with an awkward nod and a swift shuffle away from the scene. Manhattan seems pleased to leave them all behind. There is much to do; so much game to hunt down. A darker voice in her master's mind hums on as they exit the clearing.

So much out there to kill.