“Just one?” His curious reply is immediate, hanging between them like a glistening, wet cobweb. The answer is as brazen and nonchalant as he, some ease has returned to his shoulders. Skywalker glances at her through shadows and the starving beams of light that filter through the naked canopy. Her greeting is neither unexpected nor unwarranted and he takes no offense at the harsh tone at the fringes of her voice; of course the mare will be protective of what is hers, anything else would be foolhardy. She wants reasons, and scornful laughter is near his thin lips when he thinks of the absurdity of her demand. Why did she think he was here if not to join the band of outcasts hiding in such an unlikely, treacherous place – had he wanted to bring turmoil into the gloom he would not come alone. He can be named many things, and while arrogant, stupid is not one of them.

He tilts his head and shifts his weight, somewhere nearby a bloated body groans remorse from its watery encasement. It does not unsettle him: the groan is outdrawn and impossible to ignore, a terrible bellow in the grey stillness, but he does not flinch. Instead he stares directly at her, his gaze burrowing deep into the mistrust of hers while an even smile spreads slowly across his usually unsmiling face. The expression is untrue and lacking mirth entirely, rather it is an expression of something else, something more… sinister. Somehow he seems impossibly childlike where he stands, a cocked hoof and an upturned face, his tail swishing gently against his black hocks. And yet there is something utterly disturbing about him, as he stands swathed from nose to hip in suggestive quiet, a slow gleam of menace in his wintry eyes. “I’m sure you wouldn’t, though I must admit it would be terribly foolish of you.”

For a moment something ravenous filigrees his lingering smile as he watches the smaller mare in the lazily outstretched silence he carefully leaves to follow his words. He suppresses the growing urge to reach out and touch her freckled skin as he normally would, judging it best to show some form of respect, abandoning his strict belief that it is a thing to be earned. Admittedly, something with her has impressed him if only in the slightest, and he decides that to be enough. “Getting rid of me before finding out if I can be of use to you,” he shrugs, “would be regrettable. Toss me in the water if you like, but I’d advise you to think on it first,” suddenly his face is steely and the smile gone. “It might prove more difficult than you think.”

Behind him, the sound of another bloated body floating to the surface, the rush of water expelled from its cavities sounding like a morbid hush.

“That’s one,” his voice is silky like tar, “tell me if you want more.”

S K Y W A L K E R.
Eris