i am the mace, the map, the fall and the high

There is an itch along his spine that he can’t quite seem to shake. There is nothing physical in that itch, nothing that a low-hung branch could solve, much as he might like it to. No, this is in his mind far more than anywhere else. He knows it, and yet he still cannot shake it.

Rune draws him here, though Reave isn’t quite sure why. Still, it is better than pacing as his mood grows ever more foul by the hour. Why the large raptor would wish to bring him to the field of all places when he is barely fit for company, he doesn’t know. Perhaps his meddling companion imagines company is exactly the cure he needs.

Or purpose. Who knows with Rune. (Reave does, truthfully. They share a soul after all, but some days it’s easier to pretend otherwise.)

Still, he stalks forward. Rune was right after all, even if Reave is loath to admit it. He is not a creature made to be alone, and he has been alone far too much of late. Though his face is missing it’s characteristic smirk, his vibrant blue eyes are just as sharp and alive as ever. He scans the field boredly, gaze skipping over forms with careless inattention. It isn’t until several passes later that he catches on a tall mare standing idly apart.

For a time, he simply watches her. When she does nothing more than snatch a few bites and chase away flies, he releases a soft sigh before shifting forward. It seems he would learn little from here, and he is hardly in a mood to dig deeper before something jumps out to catch his interest.

“You don’t look overly thrilled to be here,” he offers by way of greeting when he has reached a conversational distance. He is restless, gaze moving over her as his tail flicks and hooves shift. Stillness has never suited him very well. Lips pulling faintly up - a ghost of the devilishly charming grin he normally wears - he sweeps one last glance over her before lifting his eyes to meet hers. “I’m Reave.”

reave