The day was quiet and still—or was it night? Yseulte had long since lost track of the hours, the days—it no longer mattered in this everlasting winter of darkness. And yet, even without the sun, life seemed to go on as it always had, if only for a little while longer.
Itzal huffed impatiently at her, twitching his whiskers and giving her one of his icy, venomous stares. Strangers, ahead, and no doubt, Itzal was eager to stare rudely at such exotic creatures. Shifting images flickered through her mind—bright, flashing colors of a proud, elegant woman, a strange creature striped in a similar fashion to Itzal's own fur, and perhaps most peculiar and striking of the mental images—a familiar face. A hulking beast with glowing orange lanterns for eyes and a sarcastic smile. Could it be him, that gray savior in the night? How long had it been since that night in the woods, anyhow? Perhaps a year? She could not remember a night darker—save for this everlasting darkness. The wolves had swarmed to her like bees to pollen, thick as thieves and grinning glistening white fangs like an assassin's dagger. If not for for him...
She dismissed the thought almost immediately.
Sighing, she limped after her restless tiger companion through the crusted snow. Her crippled hind leg ached more than usual in the cold ferocity of winter, and so she followed Itzal's nimble, bounding form slowly, wincing occasionally as the pain thrummed deep within the marrow of her bones. Minutes later, she halted by her companion's side as he crouched low to the snow, his violet eyes glittering like amethyst gems against the sparkle of the snow. They took in the scene together before announcing their presence—although the two beast-like creatures surely already knew of their arrival.
It was a bizarre scene to behold, if anything. A wild array of colors captured her attention first; a proud mare with a strong stance, bold, bright eyes, and a voice that cut the thick silence like a dagger. She was fierce, to be sure, and did not pretend to be something she was not. Yseulte instantly took to the mare, appreciating her bold, blunt mannerisms and passionate voice, but remained wary. She would reserve judgement for a later time. She gazed at the tiger-horse next, tracing the stripes slanting across his skin like obsidian scars. Flashes of curiosity and disgust emanated from Itzal's mind, like a child that has discovered a fascinating new bug, deciding if he should keep it in a jar, or squish it. She could not help but smile at his perplexed state. And the third member of this company...so the images of a familiar face she had seen in Itzal's mind were him after all.
Osiris.
"I don't think anyone would dare underestimate the likes of you, good sir," she said suddenly, shock and pleasant surprise mingled together in the tones of her voice. She paced slowly from the background, doing her best to conceal the limp that plagued her every step as she stopped to linger near the wolf hybrid, appraising him with an open, bold gaze that swept his body from head to toe. Her iron-like eyes rested curiously upon the harsh contours of his face, the burning eyes, the confident gaze; he was just as she remembered him—massive, imposing, and those black lips either turned in a sarcastic, wolfish grin, or a brooding frown. She would never a forget a face like his. But would he even remember hers?
And of course, he was not without his second shadow; the little black dragon, perched neatly on his thick shoulder and chirping happily. Despite the little dragon's constant stream of positivity, a gaping chasm of tension lingered between the three gathered. Perhaps she would attempt to build a bridge, and repair whatever damage had been done.
"Last I saw of you, you were busy rescuing damsels in distress, not harassing them," she said slyly to Osiris, wondering if he, too, remembered that night in the woods. She then cast a sympathetic glance to the proud maiden whose wild array of colors was muted in the darkness. Bellona. A strong, fitting name. "Although you hardly seem a damsel in distress to me. Perhaps it was you who harassed our dear Osiris so?"
Itzal crept from his shadows, sauntering to Yseulte's side in a lazy manner, eyeing the tiger-horse with curious, venomous eyes. His black lips turned in a silent snarl. Yseulte glanced briefly at her tiger companion, then to Tingal. "He doesn't quite know what to make of you and your stripes. Neither do I, for that matter." She smiled softly. "My name is Yseulte, and this is Itzal." |
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