Rey
Something about the chaos seems so beautiful to me. I’ve barely thrown my weight into the middle of things, only offered a few (true) statements which seem to irk more than a couple Nerinians. Just a small dose, merely a fraction of the distaste I have for those who claim they fight in the names of “justice” or “righteousness”. A drop in the ocean, but it happens to be the drop which causes a flood.
An infected thing enters and coddles a nearly grown foal as if she were his lover (I’m disgusted even more with these so-called northerners) barking out for the blue roan female to follow in his wake. She promptly ignores him, leaving just cause for the others to pipe up and enough time for a shadow creature to make himself known. I’m feverish with excitement that our small gathering seems to upset the Leviathans, my dark hooves hardly able to remain in one place as I dance eagerly beside the great horned stallion, Bruise, when a thrill of fear begins to grip me in its palm.
God it’s been … how long has it been since I’ve felt anything?
I suppose I should scream - it’s what I feel like doing when a lame magician arrives to strong-arm us - but instead I feel nearly elated at the choking power of terror. I’m a sick, twisted thing now that Carnage is done with me (marked and yet, better) so the sensation that takes me right back to those hours spent in sunken Pangea is one I’m beginning to cherish. I actually enjoy that heart-pounding, trembling sort of anxiety. “Curse Nerine! I wail, “The southern lands would never… !” and that seems to do the trick.
One of their own and not ours finally breaks.
It’s the roan mare with death in her eyes. She clips my whiskers and trims one hoof I throw out in defense before instinct gives control to my gift, reeling me away in a dizzying teleport.
When I settle again the brittle refuse of Sylva’s canopy, thousands of fiery leaves, stir around all four of my planted hooves and I find that I’m huffing, snorting in disgusted angst. I know two things for certain: that magicians were a crutch and altogether terrible, and that I wanted - no, needed - to feel that delectable taste of horror again.
Wanna step to me better think twice, 'cause I look pretty but I ain't that nice
Today on: who’s turn is it anyways? Rey leaves.