when the stars threw down their spears and water'd heaven with their tears:

The breeze was superb today, blowing gustily from the south to bring heady clouds and rain for the future. Soon enough the gathering flock of cirrus lines would draw together to form mighty, grey cumulus heads that would no doubt drench the world below in an early Spring shower, but for now the day waxed bright, blue, and wonderfully beautiful.

It was really a shame that he’d come all this way to ruin it.

From a passing glance the shape-shifter is just your average condor: dark, wide wings outstretched to ride the currents of air as he circles above the gathered horses like a wraith. Occasionally, the span of his feathers blocks the sun, dotting the landscape below with a pale shadow and hiding him from eyes that seem to linger a bit too long. With a keen eye he singles three from the crowd, dipping a circuit lower into the sky to appraise each one before finally settling on a mare who’s kept herself strategically far enough away to be of interest. With a single flap he rises again, changing his form to that of a bullet-like kestrel before the lull of his wingbeats has him looking earthward again. Like a strange comet he rockets downward, spiraling to enjoy the simple pleasure of being a bird before snapping his appendages open to halt his descent, body bursting and expanding as he shifts to his natural, Equine state before sliding into the ground for a crowd-pleasing halt.

It never got old. He shakes, once, to adjust to gravity and then his bright green head rises, bicolored eyes focusing on his prey before the shade of a malicious grin lifts his mouth. “You’ll do.” he states, tail flicking only once before he lunges at her with mouth agape, teeth hoping to rake over her exposed, innocent face in a bold display of claim. His jaw snaps shut after the motion, muscles straining against his skin as he stands readily beside her, the words, “If you resist, you’ll regret it.” falling heavily on her ears.

He gleefully wishes she would.

did he smile his work to see? did he who made the Lamb make thee?

when the stars threw down their spears and water'd heaven with their tears:

Women. All these years of evolution on the earth and still they seem to forget the backlash that comes along when you play with others emotions. The mare he’s singled out is confused (decidedly so, anyone would be) but it’s not for her to understand just yet what Wyrm has in store for her. This place is wild and she had chosen to make it her home - far be it from him to lead her every step of the way. She rears, but he’s faster than her (faster than most) and the aim is well-placed but still falls short. “Now you’ve gone and made me -”

“Angry.” He was going to say ‘Angry’, but instead what he feels is something that he hasn’t felt in a very long time. Silence overcomes him first and then the knowledge that something else is at play here strikes him. The emotion that’s building in his chest is seizing his mind, numbing his senses, drawing him further into himself. And then, the second mare joins them. “Of course.” He thinks, eyes slowly turning to peer at her while she talks to his prey.

“Too fucking scared out of his mind…” She tells the lone girl, but Wyrm is very, very far from talking at this point.

If Heda had been smart instead of a worthless breeding piece of meat, she might have thought twice about pushing this particular emotion on him.

What she doesn’t know (because she is young, and the youth of this world are always incredibly stupid) is that Wyrm has been steeled for this sort of thing since he was a colt. Heartfire had taken his sight when he was a boy, shown him real terror, and taught him to harness it against those who would destroy him. What the navy-tinted girl doesn’t know is that his very trait relies on his ability to remain totally in control of himself, and when that control was sent akilter, it could produce terrible, terrible things. The fear, now rising into a crescendo of true horror, sends his body convulsing - skin flashing bright colors while his appendages seemingly bubble and twist. He locks his eyes upon Heda, knows that the fear comes from her, and then uses it to rationalize.

She was the source of his fear, so Wyrm would do to her what he usually did to everything that caused him to be afraid. He would destroy her.

His mouth flashes open, rows of elongated, needle-like teeth splayed outward as his jaw unhinges and widens. A screech, high-pitched and unbearable, breaks the calm between them as his vocal chords warp. Horns sprout and curve from his skull (one, two, three …) and his hooves split and widen into massive paws that unsheath horrid black claws. He’s an unholy mesh of animals that grows to an unnatural size and seized by a fear that has his eyes rolling into the back of his skull. “DIE!” He screeches, before jerking rapidly across the few feet of distance between them, front paws opened wide with the intent to grip Heda's tender flesh in a bloody hug should he catch her. And if (by some miracle) she can escape his claws, his jaw will be waiting to render her to ribbons. He can’t see straight anymore; can only smell her scent and that of the other mares whose life Heda has now put in extreme danger.

There’s barely even time for the two of them to get to know one another.

did he smile his work to see? did he who made the Lamb make thee?

when the stars threw down their spears and water'd heaven with their tears:

It takes Heda only a moment to realize that she’s made a serious mistake. “Good.” Wyrm thinks as the normalcy of nothingness washes over him. He calms, body stilling while his paws still cling to dirt and earth so he can gather his bearings once more. He’s so near to Heda that he can smell the putrid scent of her invading his nostrils, so he blows heavily once to rid his body of the acrid taste it leaves in his mouth. “Your father should be ashamed that a whelp like you was allowed to live.” Wyrm mumbles, two-toned eyes snapping to where she hovers above the earth.

“Your powers won’t ever save you, Heda.” He warns her, head tilting as he memorizes every line of her face, every wrong edge of her gangly body. “And your daddy isn’t here to save you either, so hold your foolish tongue.” He barks, knowing full and well that defeat has come for her. Poor, pitiful little Heda. He’d like to taste that flesh some day, so he tucks her into the back of his mind for later. “Flap and flutter all you like, silly little girl.” He thinks, a wry smile winding over his lips as his original companion denies her harshly.

The world worked differently these days.

It’s only when the spotted red mare turns her attention back to him that he moves again, circling about to stand calmly where she waits for him. “I think we’re finished with you.” He calls out to the bitter clash of blue and gold that had so rudely interrupted them. “Maybe I’ll come and see you soon, finish what I started.” He chuckles, finding her pathetic attempt at bravado humorous, but still rather sad. Heda had done the right thing, saving her own skin and tucking tail, but that mouth of hers was something no princess would ever have, especially in a Beqanna where royalty no longer existed. The age of Kings and Queens was gone, giving rise to the age of those with power. Heda’s stupidity was likely to get her killed anyways, regardless of enticing Wyrm or not.

So the green man flicks his tail idly and shows the Taigan his wonderfully made, granny-smith colored ass before giving his attention back to the paint mare. “Now where were we?” He muses, one ear tilting sideways in contemplation. “Ah, yes. I’m Wyrm, and I must say you’ve chosen wisely. Now - what do they call you? We don’t have much time for chit-chat, so let’s get to the point and then be on our way.”

did he smile his work to see? did he who made the Lamb make thee?