Beneath the moon no creature stirred. The darkness covered them like a solid force, trapping everything under its heavy rein. The Dauntless is motionless in the grass, letting the dew settle on his swarthy body. The warrior looks peaceful, for once, in his battle-torn skin. The stretch of his pelt over rocked muscle glistens in the chilled night of Birdsong, with his faithful bitch laying stark next to him. To unknowing eyes, the two are simply just beings, brought together by the great force of the Gods. To the hearts of their enemies, they are the bringers of death.

Finally, she entered. Archibald turned his head to watch her, an ethereal being, moving towards him with gallant movements. Eyes of piercing blue watched him, absorbing is very being. Her presence pulled the air from his lungs, the torturous way her body moved as she neared. Ripple of muscle, newly mended by the same touch that wrapped his own not long ago, sent his heart thudding hard against the labyrinth of his chest. It was without thought, without effort, that the giant regained his footing to meet her, level, his very being drawn to her silent command. Was this love? Was this that godforsaken feeling, pushed down by the melanistic jaguar for so many years? Was this, finally, the life that Archibald was designed for?

Anything is possible.

Speak to me. Molten eyes flickered down to Loretta, and it is his icy glare sending her off. The bitch stood, stretching her tired limbs before she lifted her maw to look at Circe. Her amber eyes danced in the ocean of the shadowmere's cerulean iris' as her tail curled over her back. Inwardly, Loretta wished for Circe to be able to mend the bond between the bitch and the Dauntless, and her pressing stare intended to throw the idea into the sorceress' mind. Huffing, the dog turned her heels and troteed into the depths of the surrounding forest, a meal on her mind, forced by the black draft. With a sigh, Archibald flicked his ears black against his neck, aggression deceased. "What do you wish for me to say?" He asked, his tail flicking behind him, swatting at his hind legs, reminding him that he could still feel something of himself. "Do you wish for me to apologize? For me to slander the territory I have called home since the destruction of my birth land? For me to weep at my decisions? I will not--I am Archibald the Dauntless, and I could not stand alongside weakness for another day, with or without the sun." Archibald's voice was cold, colder than he meant it to come forth, but he cannot change it. "I am a machine, Circe, a mechanism of war--and I am damn good. I am not, however, a machine willed by anyone. I was crafted carefully, meant for one commander, and I killed the first one. I baptized myself in the dark liquid of her life, christening myself to stand as the sole wielder of my destiny. I cannot live while under the contract of others. I am too destructive. I need to be free."

The dark knight took several quick steps forward, pillar-like legs swallowing the distance between his might and her warmth. He reached forward to touch his muzzle to her's, to breathe his own breath into her lungs. Blinking, slowly, he let her scent caress his cheek, intoxicate his senses until he lets his militaristic stance soften. "But I wish not to be alone." There is something between them, something dark that he wished to express. She needed to understand him, to know who he was before he asked her to pledge herself to his side. But would she stay, knowing the depths of his past? The box had barely opened, Pandora's lithe fingers curled around the edge of the top, ready to reach inside and release the gut wrenching horror. Archibald lowered his head, falling silent.

"I want you so much, but if you knew what I have done you would not wish to stand alongside me."