Sabrael
Sabrael looks at the spot of cleaved earth for a long while, lost in thought. How easy it had been to flick his tail and leave a lasting mark on the place he had all but forgotten. How effortless it had been to take out his frustration by breaking ground without hesitation. Is that all he is now, a beast driven by instinct alone? Is that who he wants to be, a creature who lashes out without provocation, careless and senselessly violent?
There is something infinitely satisfying in destruction, even he can admit.
Worse, though, is the guilt that comes after.
Worse, because he clings so desperately to the spark of morality he can’t snuff out, even with his smoky breath and hunting eyes. Worse, because he sees the faces of his mother, his father, his grandparents, his siblings, Wallace, melting without his control. He paints pictures in his mind of what he could do unrestrained. The pictures are all red.
He’s pulled from his reverie by the sudden approach of another. She’s nearly beside him by the time Sabrael realizes she’s coming, as lost in his own dark thoughts as he is. But she doesn’t stop there. The mare pushes into his space, far closer than anyone has been in a long time, but he doesn’t shy away. Maybe she’s far-sighted? He makes no indication that he’s surprised by her unexpected appearance, but her words do catch him off guard.
“Oh, that? His gold-tinged eyes shift from the mare’s to the ravine and back again, faux-surprise lighting within them. He rolls a shoulder as if in a shrug. “Maybe monstrously large and plague-brained beavers?” Or an emotionally-charged, oversized lizard hell-bent on a homecoming to Nowhere, he thinks, an self-indulgent grin twitching his lips.
“Sabrael.”
The pale woman is so close that he can feel her warmth. Or perhaps it is only her inviting and open face that is like a real and palpable thing. Whatever it is, he feels almost relaxed as he stands next to her. It’s a rather new feeling for him. He can’t know the relevance of Ryatah, can’t possibly realize the connection his family had shared with the old Dalean queen of a time Before. Most assuredly, she doesn’t know that the man who stands before her is the many times over grandson of Alaunus, the diplomat who had been one of the most vocal opponents of her ascension (though in time, became one of her most loyal subjects – enough so that they coupled and produced a son). It has been many generations since that time and so few are still around to remember it.
Even Beqanna itself doesn’t look like it used to – nor do her people.
Monsters like Sabrael now dig their claws into the land. And their tails.
The speckled stallion eyes Ryatah with open curiosity. She’s bold, if she’s walked up to him even while suspecting what he is. Not all monsters are as thoughtful as he. Some wouldn’t hesitate to crisp and gobble her up before the first syllable of a pleasantry slipped from her mouth. She’s lucky he’s a reformed dragon. Or at least one who sates himself on flesh from distant shores far away from here. Still, he can’t help himself from sending a ring of smoke into the air above their heads. It’s a confirmation for her, if nothing else. Plus he enjoys showing off for nice ladies every now and again. “I heard the world was healed and had to come back and see it myself. What are you doing here?”
@[Ryatah]