She was not quite what you would call refined.

Popinjay had not known what to do with the hole at first.

It was not a natural thing, the sinkhole had no reason to be there, but the years had worn away at it, the wind wearing down its sharp edges, the rain and the roots of seedlings chipping away at its sides, and time had faded away the memory of what it had served to do, dropping out from beneath the feet of a former king mad with grief and a golden girl with a mark like a heart at the center of her forehead. Poppy can't see its history, but she can see it was carved away by magic, not nature, and so she wonders what such a thing must be for.

And then, she forgets about it, because there are other things to think about; her collections and her patrols, her visits the stone shell of Brazen resting safe among the fly traps.

And then, the day fled from them and Nerine, often dark with rainclouds, was made darker still by an eclipse that never ended. No matter where she goes, the eclipse and the clouds hide the sky, and those whose magics depend on such things are made fearful and furious. There are monsters, so many, everywhere, lurking in the shadow that has swallowed the world. The Rook is not afraid of them, or of the dark, the wildness of it sets her alight even as everything else is lost in eternal night.

In the darkness, the pit spoke to her, it whispered its new purpose to her, and she, bright, laughing, girl, unfurled her wings with a sharp cry and thrust herself into the sky. It takes days - if you can call them such, any longer -  even as large as she i, her magic and her strength can only offer so much. She collects the largest trees and logs she can lift in those gleaming talons and carries each back to Nerine, back to the pit until there is no pit but a tangle of deadwood and dry winter shrubs and grasses and the flame-hungry pitch and needles of the northern pines.

She loves the dark, but her friends desire the light, and she gives it to them. Lightning blue-hot shatters the darkness and even the monsters are exposed as they sneak and lurk around her, curious, waiting, and she grins at them.

"Wait and see, wait and see!"

Veins of electricity spread across her body. The wood explodes, splinters bursting out in every direction, and the flames begin to lick, then to leap, then to rage. Flickering light spreads across the heath and the monsters recede with the shadow, chittering and screeching their displeasure. Her grin never wavers as she dances dangerously close to the roaring edge and the heat of the flames grows so strong that the bite of winter fades back, too.

The world may be dark, but Poppy has brought back the light.

Image by Ratty

Onward, noble steed.

Avocet snorted.

The creature that rode upon his back was nearly hidden from view, thanks to his stocky neck and thick mane. The bay stallion plodded along a trail that took him from the Common Lands towards Nerine, where rumor had found Avocet when Popinjay had not. He knows that something is wrong in their world. The dark has become continuous, extending on and on and on.

Somebody has broken the sun and if Manny was right (which he can never remember when she has ever been wrong), the blame laid with their dam. It would be like @[Popinjay] - a mother who had cared little for her children and more for her mischief - to anger the gods somehow. What had she stolen this time? Had she found a way to spearhead her lightning power and aim it towards Carnage? Had she zapped the Dark God?

No matter how his thoughts run, Avocet does not, mindful of the frog. It had taken them some time to come together but Huglava had been won over once Avo had mentioned a quest (all tadpoles are reared on noble tales of vanquishes and ventures). He was to find their Dark God, Avocet explained, and return what he had taken from his sister.

It was about honor (or something of it).

So the frog and the colt traveled from Tephra to the Common Lands and from there, to Nerine. He has forbidden the amphibian to make any sound because of the things that linger on the fringes of his vision. Things are lurking - clicking and calling through the never-ending night. His ears constantly prick forward and back, alert and listening as he tries to stay on the well-worn path they amble on. He tries and despite a close encounter with a shadow that just watches without eyes, they are left alone.

Imagine his delight when he sees the light.
Imagine his relief when he sees the banishing flame that will force the demons to retreat.

Imagine his distress when he sees who flickers on the other side of the bonfire.

"Mother," he says, wishing that this voice sounded deeper and steadier, as he stops. The fire crackles as the sap from young trees burn. From behind him, a frog croaks.

@[The Monsters] lets see what happens with his Hippogriff Mimicry

She was not quite what you would call refined.

The sound of eager footsteps draws her attention. There are so few here that she learned to recognize most by the sound of their tread, even before the light was stolen away. These feet fall in a familiar pattern, but more heavily than she recalls, it makes placing the boy before he arrives - a face flickering in the red blaze of fire, frowning, serious - more difficult.

To think that her own child would be this boring! Her eyes trip over him, counting the familiar birdcatcher spots dotting across him like the constellations hidden away behind the immutable clouds. Now, what was his name supposed to be?

"Avocet!" She grins wide into his distress, ignoring the conflict and confusion that tumble together in the storm of his gaze, "I'm so glad you're here!"

Her small hooves carry her to the boy, and she, capricious, mercurial, greets him more warmly than she has ever greeted him or his feral sister. The fire has raised her spirits high as the thermals of Nerine, not to mention remembering the name she had given him in that far-away fever-dream. @[avocet]. She finds that the neglected twins claim a small thread in her mind, though there is no particular feeling of concern or joy or love there for either, but she does recall the familiarity of them, and the boy, in particular, tucked beneath her wings. Motherhood is a strange thing which she does not understand.

"I was certain the Creatures would have eaten you by now," Her embrace loosens, instantly distracted by the sound of a frog nearby, its faint outline illuminated in the darkness by the fires is far larger than it should be. "Oh! What is that?"

Image by Ratty

His shadowed brow furrows by the firelight.

Avocet is looking at Popinjay and he knows he should feel hatred. He thinks of all the anger that he has lugged across Beqanna in a personal vendetta towards the shifter. The bay adolescent has always thought that should he stumble across his mother again, he would kill her. He thought all the rage and ire that has built up in his lean chest over the (short) years like thunderstorms would allow him to strike her down. Avocet had been born trait-less but he thought the power of those emotions would lend him the power of some god or another; he wouldn't be Avocet the abandoned son but the avenging one.

So why for all his planning and plotting does he look at his mother and feel confused? It's like all his ideas (and memories) grow suddenly hazy, surrounded by the smoke that billows from his dam's bonfire. His ears prick and then fall back into the darkness that is the wild tangle of his mane. "Are you?" he asks bluntly. Avocet considers showing his mother the fine edge of his teeth to accompany the sharp point of his words but refrains. (But why?) He considers her giving the greetings that she once gave him, the ones that he thinks he remembers.

He is stiff in her embrace; as stone-like as the granite that her new kingdom is known for.

When she pulls away (and he thinks his restraint is a gift she doesn't deserve), he clenches his jaw before asking: "What are you doing here?" Because some part of him wants to ask: Why not the Pampas?

Huglava remains on his back but he croaks again, curious about the flame-bringer. She brings the gift of warmth and banishes the shadows and his young companion finds fault with this her? He croaks again, with approval. She is a companion fit for the Great Croaker, he admonishes his charge. We should bring her to His resting mound. Avocet pins his ears again and glances back, speaking aloud to the frog. "We are not bringing her back to Tephra."

@[Popinjay]