but recently, the flames are getting out of control; any

[weed]

she is the lamb; he is the slaughter

That bitch magician had actually managed to hit him.

It had been a graze, thankfully, but it had been enough to daze him for a second, the black stallion taking a staggering few steps backward as his vision went blurry. Everything had gone into slow motion around him, and Weed had felt himself go numb with pain before the world once again went into sharp focus. Kushiel and Erebor had been gone by that time that he found his feet again, and he lifted his handsome, slender head in defiance only to have Straia’s crow of vines land on his back.

‘Consider it a gift.’

And he did.

Recognizing that the fight was, for now, over, Weed had quickly retreated, making his way to their border and then beyond, moving quickly with the crow's feet latched into the plants running along his back. But he was not headed back to the Chamber. Not yet. Instead, Weed made his way toward the jungle, feeling the heat beginning to creep into what was once the crisp, clean air of the meadows.

For a long time, Weed had longed for chaos. Now, he was in the place to execute. He had the backing of the Chamber, of sorts. More importantly, he had the participation of his father. Weed had not known how Carnage would take the proposal, but the nebula god had been interested—as interested as the immortal are in the lives of the mortal, at least. So as he approaches the kingdom, he calls upon that magic.

He shrugs off the plants from him first and is surprised by how vulnerable he feels. Then, his father’s magic begins to work and he feels his appearance shifting. He goes from tall, slender stallion to a short, squat mare, his coat bleeding from shadows to blood. When it is done, he looks like an ugly chestnut, nondescript with small eyes and stubby ears that flick back and forth anxiously between a bushy forelock.

Weed can’t help but smile, nodding to the crow as it takes to the skies and then finds a home in the trees. It could watch, but it wouldn’t do to have the Amazons see himself with the magic crow. Shaking his head, Weed did his best to get into character, his knowing smile slipping into a pinched mouth of concern, his gate going from long strides to choppy steps, his head lifting to let loose a high-pitched cry.

“Amazons!” he yelled, pacing along the border. “Come! Quickly! Anyone!”

WEED

© oscar keys

** Carnage has changed Weed's appearance for this trip so no one will be able to recognize him. Have fun!

[Tantalize]

tantalize

infinity overhead

and i whisper, are you listening?

She’s getting better at this flying thing. There’s not many breaks in the trees when it comes to the jungle but there a few hidden gems were rocks form and water falls which gives ample room to practice. Her wings stretch and each primary feather extends to feel the warmth of the sun. Her golden eyes are bright as she stands at the top of the jagged edge, looking over to the crashing roar below her. With gritted teeth, her back legs bend as her forelegs come off the ground and she jumps with faith off the top. Her powerful wings beat once before she catches the wind current and glides easily over the river and towards the never-ending canopy of foliage. She can’t help but smile, the feeling of flight was thrilling and she didn’t feel as awkward as she once had. Her landing could still use some work though. As she finds a break through the trees, she tips her wings and lowers herself to the ground. Her hooves catch the dirt and she stumbles slightly as she comes to a halt but her smile doesn’t falter. Not till she hears the call.

Folding her wings back to her side, her golden eyes narrow in the distance as her ears swivel to where the call had come from. It wasn’t any voice she had recognized. Although retaliation had never come from the Chamber after the removal of Sette, her alert was always on high. She knew how Gryffen was and how the Chamber was. She didn’t doubt that at some point, they would come after the Amazons. So it is with suspicion lurking in her golden depths, narrowed at the newcomer, that she greets the ugly little mare. And she is ugly, nothing like the beautiful and strong women that make up the sisterhood. This mare obviously doesn’t belong. The stranger seems out of sorts and concerned. The jaguar mare keeps a fair distance from her as she asks in her growling way, ”What’s wrong? How can we help you?” If only she knew this was the man she had met in the Meadow the day the Star God fell from the sky, disguised. If only she knew…. Then she would have known they were in trouble.

[weed]

she is the lamb; he is the slaughter

Weed immediately recognizes the spotted mare who approaches him, but recognition doesn’t flood his features. Instead, ever the actor, his body melts with stark relief. “Thank goodness,” he says as the squat mare, his voice shrill and unpleasant on the ear, but genuine. The relaxation does not last for long through. Instantly, his white-rimmed eyes are moving toward the border, his stubby ears flicking non-stop atop his head as he monitored his surroundings. “I can’t stay long, but I had to come, I had to—”

Without breaking face once, Weed commands a branch to crack several feet away in the jungle, he jumps, startled, sweat beginning to sicken his strangely red neck. “My mother used to live here, she would have wanted me to come.” Her frightened eyes meet those of Tantalize, and they latch on with hope.

“The Tundra can’t be trusted,” he finally squeaks out. “I wasn’t allowed at the meeting, but I snuck in and listened. I heard things.” He swallows, “Something about how Errant and Singe,” he shakes his head, “no, that’s not right. Char? Sear?” Weed bites his lip, “Damn it. I know this.” His breathing is rapid, and he feels his pulse reacting, pleased with his own performance. “Scorch! Scorch. It was Scorch.”

Weed licks his lips, visibly trying to gather himself, “Something about how the treaty died with them. They found me after that and chased me away. I didn’t get all of the details.” Another branch cracks in the distance and he snorts, side-stepping nervously, “I came here right away. I can’t stay. They’ll know.”

He meets her gaze again, pleading, “Just be careful.” He begins backing up again, nostrils flaring and his neck now clearly slick with sweat. “They can’t be trusted.” Then, with one more glance, he turns and runs.

WEED

© oscar keys