"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
bitterness is thick like blood and cold as a wind sea breeze if you must drink of me, take of me what you please
Boredom bubbles in his veins, and he loathes it.
The land around him is quiet, Bright is off doing who-knows-what, and there is nothing of interest for him to study—not truly. He has recently resigned himself to meddling in the lives of those who pass him by in increasingly shallow and petty ways. How do they react when the land beneath them turns to water? How do they react when bad news filters through them—the voice of a lover’s transgression? His shoulder is caked with blood, the coppery scent of it rich in the air, but no matter how he plucked at the strings, manipulating the reality around them, he never was able to feign interest in the outcome.
They were all such silly, unimportant things.
Still, he is not an overly cruel stallion (although not particularly hung up on morals either), and he doesn’t stay for long—doesn’t needlessly draw out torture for his own amusement. Soon, he sighs and turns from them, letting them settle back into the dull patterns of their everyday lives, their everyday concerns.
Mindlessly, he turns from the abandoned kingdoms to the river.
The ground is wet and his heavy hooves sink into it, the mud rising up and staining the feathers on his legs. He sniffs, mildly annoyed, and rinses them clean with a flick of his ear. The magic is small and the price he has to pay is minimal, just a single drop of blood that stains his already stained shoulder. It is a worthwhile price to move through the land clean, the dirt repelling from his coat of mulberry,
Not caring if he moves or stays, not caring if he remains alone or if he is interrupted, the stallion finds a place to rest—the crashing of the river just far enough away for him to hear. One ear flips forward toward it, but he doesn’t bother lifting his head to examine it any further. He just sighs and waits.
Her nose was so much stronger at night, like this, but even still it was far too slowly that she registered the metallic scent of blood. Tiny, pale paws froze in place mid-stride, her small body rigid and completely still, upsetting a little scatter of dried leaves, a couple clinging desperately to her fur. Something wounded, or something hunting?
She stood out like a beacon, and she hated that. Cursed to nearly glow in her pure white fur, in this body that only ever existed at night. So obvious to those that hunted her.
Cursed. She was absolutely that.
A trickle of magic hit the air and she startled a clumsy side-step, glancing around wildly. It was only thanks to her mother's magic in her blood that she could sense it at all, and it was never guaranteed to be reliable. A good many come near without it bothering to alert her. If only that magic wasn't completely useless to her, forever out of her reach. She wouldn't have a clue what to do with it, but it would probably help her hide better.
She was used to running - running for her life. Fighting for survival. So she did. She took off running in the opposite direction, putting as much distance between her and whatever - whoever - was nearby.
Didn't she mention how terribly unreliable and useless the magic in her blood was? The magic of a unicorn, the kind that didn't exist in this new, terrifying world she'd been sent to. Unreliable and inaccurate and infuriating and landing her right at his feet.
Or a few yards away, at least, before she threw her legs forward to halt swiftly, if terribly ungracefully.
Her large, silver-grey eyes held locked onto his face. Every part of her was held still save for the shallow rise and fall of her small chest, frozen as a hare would have been before a wolf. She was a predator and yet she was permanently prey. Permanently on the run from those that would see her killed for nothing more than her existence. An abomination that shouldn't have been possible.
Yet here she was.
And he was going to kill her.
Her face blanked carefully and she lifted her head, a stubborn tilt to her chin. She would run. She would run and live on, however worthless she was. But she would do it. The hammering of her terrified heart deafened her, but her muscles were poised for escape, coiled to launch, ready to fulfill a naive promise of a child to her mother. Her sacrifice wasn't for nothing.
09-09-2018, 09:36 PM (This post was last modified: 09-09-2018, 09:55 PM by woolf.)
bitterness is thick like blood and cold as a wind sea breeze if you must drink of me, take of me what you please
Finally, he thinks.
Finally something worth sinking his teeth into.
His green eyes sharpen with interest as he watches her, his magic trailing her and picking up the patterns of her movement, watching as she loops in and out, the trace notes of prey in her step. When she finally finds him, she pauses, freezing as if his teeth were bared and against her throat—and so he decides that perhaps they should be. Without pretense, the behemoth of a stallion shifts, shedding the mulberry coat of the stallion and taking the shape of his namesake, keeping the same unique coloring.
As a wolf, he is massive, his green eyes glittering as he watches her. She is interesting, in a way that few things are, and he cannot help but pick up on the threads of an unused magic within her—something that is not familiar to him but not entirely alien either. It’s enough to keep and hold his attention, enough for him to pause now, sitting with the faintest brush of snow beginning to fall on his thick fur.
Part of him wants to engage her in conversation, another part wants to simply dip his fingers into her mind and flip through the thoughts—taking the knowledge without asking. Still another part, a rare violent streak that has blossomed in his boredom, wants to know how she looks how she will react if he were to simply charge. He was close enough that he could make up the distance between them quickly.
Would she roll over in obedience?
Would she fight?
The questions hang in the air above him, his gaze calculating and finally—finally—interested.
There is a moment where his teeth show in a wolfish smile, lips spreading far and wide, but it is quick. Without saying a word, he pushes forward off his haunches toward her. It is a fast motion, but slow enough to give her time to react as he opens his mouth wide once more, teeth gleaming.
There was a slight widening to her eyes when suddenly horse became wolf, but to her credit, that was all the acknowledgement there was. Now her mind was spinning, working to separate what she knew of a different world, and what she didn't quite know of this one. This shifting, did it make him a unicorn? He had no horn.
Neither did she. But the scar remained in its absence.
It was a long moment that they both simply stood there, surveying the other. She'd never seen anyone like him, and even in this new shape, he was massive. A beautiful, terrifying thing from nightmares. It wasn't what she was afraid of, though. She only needed to fear his speed. His strength was nothing if he couldn't catch her first.
Those wild green eyes caught her. Seemed to look straight through her, and she had to wonder what did he see? Did he look so shallow, see the small white fox, healthy fur and strange eyes? Could he see more, things she kept away for another day? Could he see the puzzle of her mixed blood, magical thing that he was, see the blurred and smeared and soiled lines of an impossible lineage.
Did he see a delightful treat?
Her pulse stopped as a sly grin revealed his teeth, only briefly. A flash of white and then he was rising, towering, coming toward her. Survival kicked in but only enough to get her moving. Not enough to cloud her thoughts in fear as she spun around and took off into the woods with a whispering of leaves not yet soaked by the winter.
He was not from her world.
He was not here to kill her. (At least, not for the threat she posed them.)
He didn't charge her like a hungry beast, uncontrolled and instantaneously. He'd paused long enough to think it through, to calculate, to choose this path for them. And so he was a hunter. A hunter that liked to play.
Her eyes skirted to the sky as she ran, pouncing through taller brush and bolting across smoother ground. His legs were longer. She'd have to work harder to make up the same distance. In brief glimpses, she knew the moon was still high. She told herself that was a good thing, and lowered eyes ahead of her again.
It was a good thing.
If she were incapacitated, it would be from him. Nothing else.
So she breathed and stretched her legs, let the burn in her muscles keep her alert. She ran without fear, because he only wanted a game. And she would not be caught. She would outlast him and then she would burrow in places too small for him to follow. But until then, the cool air on her face was nice. The smells of night-time were nice. The run was nice, with this creature she oddly felt sort of safe with if only because she knew the others would hesitate to fight him.
She smiled to herself. They would hesitate just at the sight of him. Just as she had but for different reasons. The image of her pursuers taking pause for anything, even the beast that hunted her now, still felt like a small victory. It would never be from anything she could do. But they would pause a short moment and that was a win.
A sneaky giddiness crept in her throat, and she heard her own soft laugh trickle out. Hah, then her smile widened at the thought of him probably questioning her sanity, laughing when she was supposed to be running for her life. So another short laugh barked out, and she glanced over her shoulder at him with sparkling eyes. She turned forward again, shook her head at herself and picked up the pace, leaping over a frozen, fallen tree trunk and collecting mud on her small feet as she pressed forward.
bitterness is thick like blood and cold as a wind sea breeze if you must drink of me, take of me what you please
She tucks her head, turns, and runs—and for that, he is pleased.
Woolf practically purrs with pleasure as she lengthens out, her small and clever body weaving in and out of the foliage, using her size as an advantage. Were he a normal wolf, he would perhaps be phased by her cleverness. He would potentially be blocked by the way that she dips in and out of his normal vision, her white body only seen in flashes as she moves through the brush and leaps over the felled trees.
But he is not a normal wolf, and he doesn’t have any qualms about cheating.
Without a thought, he splits open his shoulder once more, the blood matting along his fur, and he traces her path, tracking her as she runs. He doesn’t miss a beat, his body melting through whatever obstacles he meets. When she races underneath the bushes, he simply runs through them, his loping gait never pausing, the obstacles simply fading as his massive form flickers and reforms after he has passed.
It’s only when she laughs that his expression changes at all, curiosity flickering beneath the predatory need to chase. He cannot help his curiosity from piquing at the unnatural reaction, wondering at what would cause the fox-girl to at once run from him and yet laugh into the wind. He could feel her fear on the air, a hungry beast gnawing between them, but he also recognizes a sense of relief.
From him?
The confusions swirling around are muddled and he struggles to pick them apart, struggles to unwind the meaning, and he nearly grows agitated—the more that he picks at them, the more tangled they become. Finally, he opens up a portal and leaps through it, placing himself in a position where she would either stop or, potentially, run straight into him. He doesn’t really care which one occurs.
Stance wide and green eyes glittering, he looks at her.
A frown furrowed her brow. No matter how she flew and pounced across the terrain, his gait never faultered. Never did the same. She was certain there were plenty of obstacles even his larger body would need to lift for. Her lips pressed in a tight line, and her eyes shaded with another little sense of doubt. She couldn't smell the fresh blood from his magical cost.
Oh!
Suddenly he was before her, and she yipped quietly in surprise, couldn't help it. Her silver eyes went wide again, small mouth gaping in a silent gasp as she stared up at him from between his front paws where she tumbled to her side, leaning on a little elbow and neck twisted up to him.
"Why are you laughing?"
Well, she wasn't. Was he mad? She was most certainly not-- oh.
Amusement flickered beneath the renewed terror in her eyes. She was young, and sometimes she was terribly unwise. Although she was typically very silent, very cautious and suspicious of others, tonight seemed to be a time when she would speak and regret it later.
Her heart was racing with the tumbling storm of fear, her blood running ice cold. But a smile tipped one side of her mouth, and her eyes reflected an excitement. "You are terrifying," she told him like a secret, her lips spanning wider and voice a soft foxy gruff. She was mildly surprised she could understand him, and speak to him, but it was such a small thing to think on later and was easily brushed aside in her mind.
She did the same with the fact that he appeared in front of her out of nowhere. Had he teleported?
She was thinking of it now though. "What else can you do?" she asked skeptically, but not quite as cautiously as she should, using the question to hopefully distract him as she edged her way from between his muscular legs and slink further away from him in a mask of bravery she didn't entirely feel.
Her gaze flitted over his wound, couldn't remember that there, but said nothing about it. Most likely he received it in the chase, and she would try not to be openly smug about it for now.
bitterness is thick like blood and cold as a wind sea breeze if you must drink of me, take of me what you please
She is amusing and he therefore does not mind the time he invests into the interaction.
She is a puzzle, with her fear and her courage, the way that she ran but laughed as she did it. At her confession, his mouth quirked with amusement, but no laugh escaped his mouth. He was terrifying, but perhaps not in the way that she expected, perhaps not in the way many people expected. Magic flowed through his veins—powerful magic, as only magic powered by blood can be—but he had a limit. He had places he could not go, regardless of where his morale barometer stood on the matter.
For example, he couldn’t kill her. Even if he wanted to, death was too much of a weakness for him for it to ever be worth it. It was painful enough when he felt someone else dying, but it was debilitating when the death came from his own powers. So no, she didn’t need to fear death from him.
But there were plenty of other ways to inflict terror.
At her next question, his grin widened. “Plenty of things,” he admits. “Like make sure you don’t run away,” he draws up an invisible barrier around the pair, making sure she couldn’t escape from his immediate vicinity. She wouldn't be able to see it, but she would certainly be able to feel it.
He then blankets the area in darkness, muting the moon and starlight.
A cold wind whips through and around them, blowing up the dirt and the leaves so that they spin around them. His dark eyes glitter as the wind whistles, his voice cutting through it as if the noise didn’t exist at all. “Why don’t we start with you telling me what exactly you’re running from?”
He could get the answer himself, of course, but it was better to hear it straight from her.
She knew she made yet another mistake when he spoke, when simple words spoken so calmly suddenly felt like an earth-shaking threat. Her eyes widened slightly, only sensing based on guess that he must have done something more, something she didn't want to learn about. Something that made certain she couldn't escape him. No amount of hiding, no amount of running, could save her now.
Then he made the night darken further, so deeply that she could no longer see much of anything around them. Her silver-grey eyes darted around to confirm that, her little body shrunken down defensively a short way before him, and she prayed that he wouldn't make the sun rise. Take the moon, but please don't bring the dawn.
A chill breeze whipped around their feet, combing invisible fingers through her coat and stirring the forest debris to circle around them. Then he asked, or rather suggested firmly, that she tell him what she was running from.
She had no reason to lie. It wouldn't help her either way.
Besides, they would fear him far more than they ever feared her.
She was almost captive once, and she wondered so briefly if this will be that.
Her body stayed low to the ground, staring up at him in understandable fear, nearly cowering. Sometimes that helped, to cower. She adapted so quickly. She was not fearless, not invincible. And her fear was genuine, not as bold and foolish and naive as it was a few minutes ago as she ran from him. Like a game.
Now he was dangerous.
But she still had no reason to lie.
"I run from Unicorns."
And in this world, they don't even know what that means. He may even be one yet, the most successful so far. She was hunted by her own kind, and yet she could never belong with them. Every kind soul she ever knew wanted her dead. Except Mother. But she was likely already dead herself.
bitterness is thick like blood and cold as a wind sea breeze if you must drink of me, take of me what you please
The fox’s fear permeates the air but it doesn’t bother him.
Such trivial emotions have never really bothered him.
(Perhaps because they have never struck him personally but that doesn’t matter much to him.)
She answers, and even though he can comprehend the words that she’s saying, he cannot quite make the connection between them and the reality that he knows. His face contorts with his confusion, his dark lips pulled downward into something between a mere frown and a deep scowl.
Not thinking about whether or not it could be insensitive or cause her further distress, he throws up an image of a unicorn, molding it into flesh before her very eyes. However, it molds it into the image of his own understanding, shaping it like clay. He makes it white, the eyes blue, a singular twisted horn shooting out the center of its forehead. It’s hooves split and its tail is that of a lion, barely sweeping the floor.
Was she not to watch him make it in front of her, it’d be easy enough to believe that it was real, the only thing missing from the sculpture being life itself. The unicorn remains still, all four cloven hooves pressed into the mulch, and it glows slightly, Woolf brightening their area only enough for her to see it.
“Is this the kind of unicorn you’re running from?” he questions, stepping toward his own creation. He walks around it, considering all angles of the fairly harmless looking creature.
“Why?” the question is quick as a bullet as he turns the heat of his gaze back to her.
“Why would you run from a creature like this?”
He picks up another one of her fears, so heavy between them he feels like he’d be able to discern it even without his gifts. “And why are you so afraid of the sun cresting the forest canopy?”
She was less surprised this time, because she adapted quickly and he had shown his powers already. She took note, though, of every different thing he showed her that he could do. Committed them to memory in case it was of use some day.
Her breath left her as he conjured the image of a Unicorn before them. All at once, her fear spiked again, and then plummeted suddenly and was replaced with sadness. With yearning. She pulled herself from the ground to sit and stare at it, to watch it form and come to life as if he could create a portal to home and bring her Mother back to her. But it was not possible.
So beautiful. So white and graceful and elegant.
Enchanting. Magical.
Her silver eyes examined it in full with a deeply aching heart, from perfectly placed silky hair to those cloven hooves. For a moment, her gaze dropped to her paws, just a flicker. She'd never have hooves like those. Hers were as plain as a horse. As well as her tail. Perhaps from magic mutating in a half-ling. Or perhaps Mother had done it to protect her, to make her blend in better in this world. She'd never know.
It was so similar to Mother, as they all were, and unshed tears glittered in her eyes. She just wanted to stare at it for the rest of the night, until the sun took her away. And walk up and touch it. Rub against its legs like she might smell and feel her Mother again. Feel safe and loved again. Perhaps a vixen, a mare on her own, could still be a little girl in secret and want foolish things.
He spoke and tore her from her thoughts, and she blushed lightly with a faint scowl glancing at him and back to the Unicorn, lifting a little furred shoulder to surreptitiously nudge a droplet out of the corner of her right eye. Why did she run from them? He couldn't be sillier. Or well, fine. She did run from them. But she ran from everything else, too.
She almost answered, would have even had a little snip in her voice for how silly he sounded. Had he ever seen anything like them here? Of course not. They wouldn't be able to blend in, now would they? Wouldn't be able to catch her if they were glowing everywhere they walked. Would be far easier to avoid them, to survive, if she could see them shining like the flash of a search light. They even changed their shapes in their world too, to watch over their territories in anonymity. So instead, she couldn't trust anything. Not another fox, not another horse, not any creature.
She only trusted him this much due to his ignorance. His honest questioning.
But it was that last one that kept her from saying anything at all, and her mouth clipped shut, eyes sharp and still on the Unicorn. There was still a chance he'd find himself crossing paths with one and offer up information on her, confirm that she was in this world, that this was where her mother's portal had thrown her. In the end, her only priority was survival. And not for herself. For her Mother.
"The sun hurts," she replied shortly, a truth. It did hurt, or cause the hurt at least. Triggered it. And it hurt a great deal. And she was wary of him again, suspicious. Wary of what more he could learn of her. For the most part it was all shallow, most especially if he wouldn't connect the bits and pieces he'd gleaned so far. She wouldn't have told him, or anyone, but again.. his ignorance was genuine and teased at her to trust him. That, and that a Unicorn from her birth home might not quite know how to manage him. Would give pause long enough for her to escape. She hoped.
But she didn't hope it enough to try and keep him around. Companions were threats. Perhaps he above any other with his magic that could cage her this way. Her eyes slid to his face, still sitting erect with her tail curled over her paws.
"Release me," she commanded with the remaining bit of young and naive stupidity, and a good bit of the buried-deep pride that belonged to a Unicorn's daughter, even one so foul as her. She forced herself to hold his gaze without wavering, though she swore she'd might start trembling if she'd angered him. He'd keep her here. And she wasn't sure if that counted as survival, if it was a temporary hold until he killed her or traded her for more power.
She would've run from him long ago were it not for this magic that bound her here with him.
