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

He had torn himself raggedly from Nerine early that morning, launching himself into a reckless drive across the land. He had felt trapped, though he couldn’t say why. His thoughts had scratched across deeply etched scars he didn’t want to acknowledge, and so he had left. He had given himself over to something distracting. Something that would pull him from the wretched prison of his own mind.

When he finally settled in the meadow, his breaths had heaved from his lungs, billowing in the cold air around his face. The weight of the snow beneath his legs had dragged him into exhaustion, but there had been pleasure in the pain of his abused muscles and skin torn ruthlessly from bone.

Slowly his breaths had calmed, and now he stands in the midst of the snow-blanketed meadow. Blood and sweat have frozen against his skin, betraying his wild disregard from earlier that morning. The tender skin had not been able to hold up under such misuse, though his bones have nearly stopped growing as his immortality settles. One day soon they ragged edges might finally be strong enough to hold fast, but not quite yet.

He isn’t paying attention to his surroundings, so the nicker that sounds behind him draws his attention around with an abrupt ferocity. It settles when he spots the star-faced mare loping to a halt nearby. He tilts his head as he studies, rising curiosity remaining undisguised. Her throaty greeting brings a smirk to his lips as he glances at the sparkling snow around them before returning his gaze to her.

“Indeed,” he replies, his own voice a low rumble. His smirk widens as he quirks one brow at her. “Who says I’m enjoying it?”

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

Rune has long been his compass, though one he does not consult as often as he should. The large eagle is as stodgy as Reave is impetuous. Even now he sweeps overhead, whispering his admonishment for the heedless sprint that had brought Reave here. As usual, the bone-armored stallion ignores his companion.

His gaze drops to the mare’s delicate features as she offers her pretty apology, wry skepticism written across his shrouded features. Just as she cannot hide her laughter, neither can he hide his cynical amusement. It seems this morning had been perfectly ripe for the cutting banter they now share.

Reave is perfectly content to leave this as yet nameless stranger the mystery she cloaks herself with. It tantalizes one to peel it away, but there is too much fun to be had in plucking the frayed edges first. It is the journey that appeals to him far more than any destination ever had. And that is perhaps why he always remains so fickle and inconstant.

His eyes gleam as she sidles a few steps closer, roaming so openly that one could almost believe he has nothing to hide. Her question causes him to tilt his head slightly, blinking slowly as a smile begins creeping across his lips. After a silence brimming with anticipation, he finally replies, “Distracting myself.” Shifting, he steps closer just as she had, until only bare breaths of space separate them. “And is that what you want? To be a distraction?”