every scar will build my throne; any

[Vercingetorix]

@[Wayra]

	The afternoon is lazy, the sun sprawling across the sliver of cerulean sky, like some tangerine brushstroke. From what I can see in the heart of the forests, is but a silhouette of towering pines, and a small glimmer of the sun. Much to mother's displeasure, I had pleaded her to let me go deeper into the dark copse of trees. I wanted to learn like my father, how to track, how to find things, and primarily how not to get lost. The bark is rough against my silvery hide, course and wobbly like old, worn fingers as the brush against me on my passing. I stop, lifting my head, nostrils fluttering and gauging the scents. Damp, everything is damp and dank and stale here. Harder to pick out familiarity, but it is there. The sweet rosewood of mother, the earthy musk of father. That is when I see it, a silver spun hair, caught on the branch, as if the knobbly bough would keep it safe, it's secrets hushed. I pick it up with my teeth, and as I do, I find another has been intertwined, a single black strand. Ah. The thought passes me and the frown that knits my features makes my face far harder, harsher than necessary. Sort of like the lines on the trees, nobbled, wrinkled. I pluck the hairs from their keeping in the branch and drop them to my feet, kicking over a few mounds of dirt and moss to cover them. Perhaps father would find them, such an expert tracker he was. Perhaps one day, one day indeed I could say that I could rival him, but not for a long time. Their scents are stronger here, and I remember this spot, sparks of recollection ignite in my forefront mind and I see the flashes of birch and leaf, of moss and earth as I entered the world. I also recall the spat between mother and father about my calling. Vercingetorix. Ver cin get or ix. I still have to ask my mother why, and what does it mean? Still getting used to rolling it over in my tongue, I was getting quite cross. Amber eyes slick with thought, glazed in contemplation. Father was right, there must be something else to call me. The ravens caw above, like black silhouettes against the splash of sapphire sky, they caw, they cry and they descend upon the boughs like an army of feathers. I chase them then, neck extending and hindquarters powering through the corpse, jumping over the fallen logs and weaving through the twisted boughs and gnarled trunks. Eyes cast upward, ears pushed back against my crow, more momentum, more aerodynamic. I raced them, faster, faster, until I broke the shadowy outskirts of the chamber and entered the clearing. Once again a loser against their broad wings and laughing caws. 'Lost, again.' My flinty hoof kicks at a lump of earth, and it rolls onward and brushes past a few inky feathers. Oh, they think their so great, those bloody birds.

[Wayra]

Wayra did not like the birds either, though she would be loath to tell anyone. She has picked up, from snatches of conversation here and there, that they are the queens birds, and therefore not to be loathed.

It had been hard for her, to wander more than a little ways from her father. He was, after all, the whole reason she had come here. If she wasn’t to be near him, then why not be somewhere pretty and pleasant? There was something about these trees, something about the birds, and something about the eerie way the Chamber beat beneath her hooves.

The whole place was watching her. She was quite certain of it.

That was just another thing was was determined not to say. She was also determined that she would leave her father’s side today, if only for a little while. She needed a walk, and certainly he needed space. What was it that children did to their fathers? Cramp their style? Yes, that was it.

Wayra shook her head in frustration. She wasn’t even a child! Why could she not remember that? She regarded herself skeptically. At three years old she was a mare, but she saw very little indication of it. How did one be an adult? It was a worry that had plagued her ever since she had stood on that precipice, had straddled the line between her childhood and her adulthood.

Her sister certainly had no problem crossing that line. They were nearly the very same age, yet Nebibi had struck out on her own. She had been excited to go. Wayra didn’t understand, though she wished she did.

Her thinking had been very cyclical recently. Adulthood, family, future, destiny. They had swirled around and around until Wayra was sure she would scream with frustration. The only blessing was that she was so distracted by her own troubles that she had been too busy to worry about the potentially dangerous place she had taken up residence. She had only been here a short while, but nothing bad had happened. Nobody had set upon her like a punishing angel. Slowly, she came to realize that perhaps she had allowed herself to be too led by Meadow gossip. It was another thing she was coming to terms with. You couldn’t always trust the things whispered in the Meadow.

For all her thinking Wayra had come to no conclusions save that one. She needed a little space, a little time not to think. Wayra was very good at thinking, at least thinking cyclically. Not thinking was nearly as hard and thinking. But, before she could be allowed to puzzle this futile train of thought, a boy burst from the trees.

Good heavens. She thought.

Is someone finally going to get those blasted birds? Her pace quickened, excited by the thought of victory for the horses. She broke into a trot, then a canter and then a gleeful gallop. She raced towards him, poised to revel in his glory.

But no, it was not meant to be.

She almost succeed in keeping the disappointment from her voice when she spoke.

“You very nearly caught them I think. Yes,” she said determinedly, pointing with her nose,

“I think that one’s feathers are bent.” She couldn't be sure of course, but she willed herself to see some small victory and did. After a moment she looked back to the boy, suddenly shy. She had been swept away with the excitement of the chase, and now felt the unwelcome wave of reserve return. After a moment she spoke again, a little hesitantly.

“I’m Wayra.” Would she think her strange? Would he be angry that she joined his game without being asked or invited? Wayra bit the inside of her cheek, trying not to let the discomfort show on her face. 

Wayra

not all who wander are lost

[Vercingetorix]

every scar and bone will build my throne

I had been quite certain that there was no one else about. The caws from the birds would often give away another's presence, but I had been far too engrossed in my race against the avian creatures, pushing and pushing, and yet I had succumbed to defeat. This time. This time... I would be sure that there would be one day that I could beat their wings. One day indeed.

She appeared, the shimmer of silvery blue. Between the trees, it looked like a shadow dancing against the spires of light, a trick of the eye, but as she appeared before me, all gentle words and soft eyes, I furrowed an imaginary brow, pawed at the moist earth of the chamber floor, and snorted, obviously disgruntled. 'Nearly isn't good enough, you know. Nearly doesn't win, nearly doesn't get things achieved.' There was something dark about the way I spoke, like a sliver of shadow had become wisps from my lips. But as my amber eyes found the young girl, I felt my shoulders soften and my jaw loosen, if only a little.

'Bent feathers are something.' I extended my muzzle to sniff at the ground, lips parting and revealing teeth that plucked at the feathers on the floor, as if some small trophies, for the loser that is. I shook my whole body, ridding myself of the sheen of ash that clung to my sweaty form. I rose my head once again, lips toying with the idea of a smile. 'Maybe one will come crashing down next time, one down, thousands more to go.' I spoke as though telling some secret, hushed, purposefully quiet. They could hear, the birds, they saw, they heard, they told. And I did not want the Queen to hear of my exploits against the birds. It was only a race, I'd say, it wouldn't be my fault if one bird decided to.. act mercenary to my feet.

The idea made me chuckle and then the realisation that I was not alone hit me, but as I looked up, It was in fact one of the birds sitting above me, beak smirking, beady eyes watching. He'd knocked a twig down and it had landed on my rump, goading me. I snorted, rose a foreleg and dug at the earth with a fury, at loss, at the birds. My mother wouldn't care for this sort of brattish behaviour and well, my father he would have given me that moss green eye and I would get lost in the trees for the time being, sulking perhaps.

Amber eyes drew back up to meet the girl, a few casual steps forward, closer, muzzle extending, inhaling her scent. She was new, I gathered. Yet the pine was attaching itself to her already, perhaps she was not some mere passer-through.

'Vercingetorix.' I say and then tighten my lips in a slight grimace. 'I'll make the jokes before you, don't worry.' my name, it is always the name. Perhaps I should simply not introduce myself at all -- didn't girls like mystery? Ah, but I was not up for impressing anyone, not quite yet. It was my mother, my father right now. And the Chamber of course. Live for the Chamber. Work for the Chamber. Chamber. it seemed to be the root of all, quite literally.

'You're new here, aren't you?' I ask, smooth tones, course like the bark of the trees, yet a baritone that rivals the loudest caw of the ravens. 'Wayra. Pleased to meet you.' it was my mother talking, she had instilled respect, politeness, her silver tongue, into me. But it was the rugged earth that called me, the way the pines entangled themselves, made me want toe explore for hours, not talk of fanciful things and pointless ambitions... for now at least.

vercingetorix

killdare x engelsfors

[Wayra]

Wayra knew something of disappointment, and of envy. She loved her sister like she loved herself, perhaps even better, for Nebibi never failed her. Yet, like all sisters, Wayra worried she would come up lacking. Nebibi was bold, Nebibi was brave. What was Wayra? She was young. In her heart she was young, all eyes and legs and soft smiles.

She could feel a fire burning in this colt, and her own soul, like a rush of cold wind, rose to soothe his. She was like that. She was still too gentle for the sharp corners of the world. If she could she would smooth away the jagged edges like the sea worked on a piece of glass.

She watched him carefully, though something akin to fondness pulled at her expression. She found she liked him, this precocious colt, if only because he was hard on himself, and that was something Wayra could relate too. Even in his disappointment, she thought she saw the beginning of a smile, maybe just a tiny smile, but a smile nonetheless. Wayra, for all her self-deprecating scowls, was not built to frown. She was quick to smile in response, and even laughed as he spoke of a bird crashing to earth. With a little delight, she dropped her voice to match his conspiratorial whisper.

“It would serve them right. They are terribly morbid." It was then Wayra noticed they had an audience. She shot the bird a reproachful look, then snorted indignantly as it dropped its prize on the boy’s rump.

“Morbid and overconfident! I dare say it wouldn’t be half so forward if it came down from that tree.” If truth were to be told, Wayra wasn’t sure she would want to face the bird, even if they were standing on equal ground. She didn’t like the look its strong beak and evilly curved talons. Then, of course, there was  the small matter of the bird’s mistress. She put that thought aside, for it would only cause her to lose her nerve.

He introduced herself, and she quickly hid a smile at his grimace. When she spoke the smile was gone, though it could still be heard lingering at the edge of her words.

“Vercingetorix, it’s a fine name, truly.” She couldn’t help it, the smile escaped and sprinted across her face. But, the expression held no mockery, and was heavily colored by the first inkling of affection for her new acquaintance.
“You will grow into it, and it will strike fear into the hearts of your enemies.” She paused to rein in her quickly growing grin.

"Birds and stallions alike.” She couldn’t be certain, but she would bet that this one had the makings of a warrior. He was already a scrapper.

Wayra, who had spent her short time in the Chamber convincing herself that she didn’t belong here, that she never should have come, and that she stuck out like a sore thumb, felt herself color in response to his question.

“Is it that obvious?” She bit her lip and fought down a wave of self-consciousness.

“Yes, I only recently arrived, though I’m not sure I’ll be staying. My father, he lives here, and I thought, maybe if I was with him, I would feel more at home.” She was a little embarrassed to admit this. He would probably think her a horrible baby. A part of her wanted to continue, but she bit back her words. They had only just met. How could she explain to him that she was afraid that she didn’t fit in, worried that she would never fit in anywhere? Instead, she offered him a shaky smile and simply said.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Vercingetorix.”

Wayra

not all who wander are lost

[Vercingetorix]

every scar and bone will build my throne

The delicate workings of my mind were shifting uncontrollably. The throes of the inner workings finding some interest, intrigue. I hadn't met many here, safe for the birds (Oh, but these birds, they are everywhere, and certainly not escapable.) and when in the deepest, darkest parts of the wood, all you have are your thoughts and the feathery hellions, it isn't much to call upon.

This girl, this girl. She added a sprinkle of what my mother would call magic, if not for the lack of such actual magical properties, I would say she was right. But this magic, it was as normal as living and as needed as breathing. 'Ah, but if it did I would not be as forthcoming as I'd wish. Rules and such.' I roll my shoulders, it is a languid action, depicting the uneasy boredom that knots my sinew and binds my bone. The quiver of winter on the breeze, entangles my silver bronze mane. The ash, the cinders, they embed themselves into me, knitting in with my coat, a fine layer of dust. Where my mother, my father were so easily claimed by the Chamber, I was uncertain if that was what I wished. Either way, I was too young to to much about it, other than chase the bothersome murder about the Chamber and have my own little tidbits of fun.

'Rules are quite the drag.' My tone is sharp, continuous, as I draw up my amber tinged eyes to watch her; her laugh almost seems infectious and the way it shifts from my chest, up my throat, feels more parasitic. 'That is the first time my name.. hasn't been said in vain.' words burn from my lips, like the falling hot spires of fire from the glimmering tree, that emits the eerie red glow from the distance. Momentarily my eyes catch it, filtering my gaze away from the girl. The Chamber burns, the Chamber burns with something more than life, it has purpose and it uses the chamberling's to direct, to do it's business. It is quite the haunting tale, really. A darkly romantic one if you think of it; The chamber, the stealer of hearts, the burner of souls...

'We're all new once. I would feel the entirely same way, if I were to leave these woods.' I cocked my hind leg, snapping my gunmetal talk across my loins. 'Just think of it as an adventure. A new canvas to paint your new world upon.' Oh, that was my mother talking and as the words fall from my lips in a foray of black magic, I keep the nightly pursed. Shaking my head. Gilt eyes find her curiosity, her down-trodden soul, to be far, far more interesting now. I take the breaching gap between us, and swallow it with my strides, closer to the little beating heart, her quivering breath.

'If you feel Home is where your parents are, I would be inclined to digress. I was born here, it is quite there home but for me, for me it has not become such, yet.' I pause here, something more lyrical, prose and poetic should fall from baritone lips, but instead I offer a twist of a smirk and my tone is dark, smooth and Vercingetorix rather than Engelsfors. 'You could mesh yourself with the pines rather well. You already understand the birds need for an unrelenting torture, I would think you'd fit right in.' Her doubt marks her pretty blue tinted face, and I reach out my peppered muzzle, indirect, curious and yet restricted. To touch her, it seemed almost forbidden, and yet enticingly I grasp at the fruit of the apple. Perhaps the serpent I will be, weaving my way around, slithering. I shake my head then, pulling back, the urge to touch the girl falling to my feet.

'Home is where you make it, Wayra. You can make your home anywhere.'

vercingetorix

killdare x engelsfors

[Wayra]

Wayra smiled at him, kindly, gently, and she felt like she understood, despite her own two syllable name. She couldn’t be sure what it was she was understanding. Was it a sense of otherness that called to her? Was it uncertainty, self consciousness?

Maybe it wasn’t any of those. Maybe she just saw his heart and attempted to match it with her own. What was that called? Empathy if complementary, weak willed if not? Wayra sighed a little. One day, maybe, she she would learn to know her own mind. In the meantime, she amused herself with the melody of his words, and was happy to admire the authority of which he spoke.

She followed his gaze to the Chamber’s burning tree, and founded that it was a smile that rose to meet her, rather than a frown. It had been the first thing she saw when she made her way to the Chamber. She had seen it through the mist and it had helped her find her way out of the woods.

That, however, didn’t mean she had forgiven it for being an oddity upon the world. Yet, when she spoke about it she was laughing, rather than lamenting.

“That tree, I’m afraid it’s as bad as the birds!” The ending burst from her lips in a breathy laugh. She mocked herself, more than the tree. Everything here was so different. She felt like she was blind, trying to find her way across the landscape in trips and stumbles.

“Everything here is so…alive.” The tree, the birds with their uncanny intelligence, even the ground beneath her feet had a heartbeat.

Vercingetorix knew this land, and spoke of it was authority. She listened, and found him very wise, almost alarmingly so.

There are certain truths which must be acknowledged. Wayra was learning them slowly, with awe and wonder tinting the uncertainty that was as familiar to her as breathing. Some of these truths were obvious, some were less so. The sun would rise and the sun would set. Winter would come, and winter would go. Those she had known for as long as she could remember. Other things, those she was less sure of.

Understanding isn’t always gifted with maturity. The young can be wise and the old can be fools. Vercingetorix was proof of that. Where you made your home as a child is not where you will rest your head as an adult. She, herself, carried that burden of proof.


He, the little man with the big ideas, urged her to think it as an adventure. She smiled, and tried to imagine herself as the heroine in a story. She could do it, almost, when it was his words in her mind rather than her own.

He took a step closer and she liked his presence. He felt like a guide, or a guard, come to protect her from a place she didn’t know. But his words, previously big and bold, were more serious now.

“You are not sure that this is your home?” This was an idea that she had barely considered, that the place you were born was not your home. She was curious.

“What would it take, for you to know you had found your place?” If family was not the stick by which you measured your place, then what?

He answered her questions, in bits and pieces, and though she listened, curiosity burning within her breast. She couldn’t be sure if what he said was true.

Surely she could never belong to the pines? How could she? Wayra bit her lip. But maybe, maybe she could. He seemed to believe she could, and she did not think he would say so only to ease her discomfort.

Maybe then.

She smiled at him, looking carefully, as if she could find the answers to the questions he raised on his face.

“If you must know your heart to know your home, then I’m sure many spend their whole lives looking.” She wasn’t sure if she was joking. Her tone was light, but there was a truth to her words that could not be denied, for all she smiled and laughed.

Wayra

not all who wander are lost

[Vercingetorix]

every scar and bone will build my throne

When I was much younger than I am now, when my legs were far more gangly and my eyes as wide as the moon that shone through the pines, within the darkest evenings. My mother told me of tales, adventures and of the harsh truth of life. She told me that life dealt you such cards that made you have to make due with what you had, but of course you would work for more, work for what you want, for what you need. She painted this new world in such a black and white picture, perhaps I had not stopped to see that there was indeed colour splashed around the pines. The toadstools that grew just off from where I slept, they were very vibrant. And the way the sun pierced through some sunrise and sunset, well that was certainly neither black nor white. My mother had a way with words, like the sun had a way of warming your spine, and the moon had a way of retaining all mystery and intrigue. My mother was my mother, and it was from her, I learn much.

My father, he is the stone that holds us all together. He is the soldier, the face of a knight. Without him, I dare think what just might breach the borders of the Chamber. If they both had their home here, and had their hearts stolen from the Chamber, then what of I?

'It is alive, Wayra. Very much so.' I say, idle for a while in my contemplations. My silver lips upturned into the briefest of purest smiles, before twisting back to the smirk that normally adorns my features. I take a few steps forward, paling the blue roan girl with my silver-bronze frame, I pass her and then stop, just on from the tree in the distance was the deepest, darkest region of the chamber. I lowered my nose and pressed it against the earth. Ash and cinder, dust and grime, it meshes with my skin, knits with my bone. I was created here, born here, and perhaps, perhaps regardless of the outcome of my existence, I may just die here too.

'Do you hear it, below us?' I turn my head, swinging at the end of my willowy neck. Amber eyes glistening with a newfound exhilaration. I had pressed on with the golden mare, my father, they had shown me the scars upon the earth, where the heartbeat was the strongest. The gentle pulse beneath us now, was a thrum of life and energy. It was both exhilarating and most frightening a thought.

'The Chamber, she has a heart.' as if talking of the lady, the forest goddess, the fiery princess, I am hushed, daring to speak aloud. 'It isn't hers though. She stole it, took it from a man.' I talk with the energy and vibrancy that matches my amber eyes as I turn back towards Wayra. Truth be told, it was nice to have another to talk to, to seek out a form of adventure, to just be.. a child with. Through the year I have lived, it was quite true that I had not had much time to be a child. There was just so much activity that was child-friendly here. And that is when you make it yourself.

'Atrox. And I heard he is back. Whether or not to try and reclaim it, I don't know.' the smirk had faded and for now a frown furrowed my lips, my wrinkling brow. I shook my head, dishevelling ribbons of darkness to cascade across my face. 'She is dangerous, The Chamber. If she can take hearts, souls. then what else might she take if not your own life too?' such a dreary subject weighs heavy upon my shoulders and for the briefest of moments I met the girl's gaze and I stepped even closer, enticed by the gentle thrum of her own heart and the life that coursed through her veins.

She was right, the Chamber it was very much alive. The trees, the earth, even the leaves. They watched, they waited. They were, just like us. they were.

'I dare say that I'm sure many here have lost their hearts to the chamber, not quite as literal as Atrox. But I do not know. Do I wish to give such a thing to a kingdom, a land?' My gaze left the girl and moved, to scan the trees, the thick trunks and the mystical haze that seems to radiate the chamber gorse. I shook, my entire body, ridding myself from a layer of dust. 'Ah, maybe. Maybe one day I will see her for what she really is.' My tone is low, thoughtful and smooth. I turn back to Wayra, walking forward to align myself in a way that makes us equal. Together. A friend. Oh, it would be nice to have a friend. And not the burly boys from the playground that inhibit my darker side, but a girl, a girl that brings out another side. After all, my father had my mother.

'What do you want, Wayra? Out of life, out of this?' I pause, 'Ah, that is rather a big question. Who truly knows what life brings, if not nothing but surprises?' After all, seeing her, here, that was a mighty surprise.

vercingetorix

killdare x engelsfors

[Wayra]

Wayra’s eyes grew wide and round as saucers, her expression shifting between one of exhilaration and fear. In all her wildest dreams she had never considered that the Chamber’s heartbeat could have once belong to someone else.

She stayed quiet and listened to the heavy thud, thud. It was there, as real and consistent as her own, now hammering a little faster in her breast.

Is that what it meant to love as you loved yourself?

Wayra shivered. She couldn’t imagine feeling passion like that. She couldn’t imagine taking out her heart and handing it to another. Was that love? Taking your heart from your chest and letting it run around? Is that what Vercingetorix’s mother saw when she looked at him? Is that what Wayra’s father saw when he looked at her? Is that what Atrox had seen when he looked at the Chamber?

She was glad that Vercingetorix stood beside her. His heart she could trust, for it still beat in its rightful place. If he didn’t seem so utterly without deceit, Wayra might have thought he was teasing her.

“What will happen," she begins, a little breathless, “if Atrox takes his heart back?” She imagined the undead stallion digging deep within the Chamber and pulling out a heart that had grown ten times its original size. The heart of a kingdom could not possibly be as feeble as the heart of a man, it would have grown in order to carry the burden. 

Would Atrox tear open his ribcage and shove it back inside?

Wayra couldn’t repress a shudder. She gave her head a shake, blue mane flapping, to try and clear the image. She was going to have nightmares.

But Vercingetorix was speaking again, and his confessions, not at all fantastical, were for that reason, all the more interesting, all the more real. They paralleled her own in some ways, though his thoughts didn’t seem to burden him the ways hers did. He was content with maybe one day. Wayra felt uncertainty as an itch she couldn’t scratch.

She felt him beside her, asking the questions she had asked herself over and over again. But, when he asked them, they didn’t seem so horrible. They seemed less impossible to answer. If love was ripping out your heart and watching it run around, was friendship shouldering the burden when you had a shoulder free to do so?

“I have never really made plans for myself.”Wayra laughed self-deprecatingly.

“I guess a part of me thought that everything would always be the way it had been.” Even anything it sounded foolish. She was beginning to understand that change was the only constant in life. Autumn had been such a roller coaster, what would winter hold?

"I think you’re right. Life is nothing but surprises. I think I would like to know that I could handle those surprises. Whatever they were. I’d like to know that, no matter what happened, it would just be one more thing I could handle.” She knew she sounded like a fool. How could she ever be prepared to handle all of life’s surprises?

She looked at Vercingetorix curiously, wondering if the assumptions she had made about him were wrong. He had chased down the ravens with such fervor, such ferocity, that she had assumed him a little warrior. But then he had counseled her with wisdom and patience. Perhaps a diplomat then? Both? She smiled at him, eyes warm.

“And what of you, Vercingetorix? Do you want to slay dragons as well as ravens? Maybe rescue a damsel or two?” She was teasing him, but it was done with an affection that seemed possible to ignore.

Wayra

not all who wander are lost

[Vercingetorix]

every scar and bone will build my throne

I forget some times, that no everyone is made of steel and iron. I forget that when I tell my mother a lie; only small ones, but still you do not lie to your mother, especially one who's eyes can turn to ice in moments. And I do forget that not everyone is like me, in the sense that they take something dark and make it even darker. I notice Wayra's skin twitch, her eyes widening. I shake my head, dishevelling the dark tendrils of mane as I do. I reach my muzzle out and touch her skin, her shoulder, then her neck. She is strangely soft, her blue skin does not feel quite like I had imagined. She looks like shadow, but feels like silk. I then pull back, unamused and quite stunned. I snort. 'I did not mean to scare you.' my tone is darker than intended, and as my ears soften back against my crown, my head dips to the earth, pushing the ashen remains about, distractingly. Feeling the pulse quite rigid, quite alive.

'What happens when you rip someone's heart out? I thought that they would die. But Atrox, he is not dead. So.. the Chamber. Will she survive, like Atrox does? Or will she crumble in and we lose all the pines and the flaming tree?' Somewhere in the distance, the darker parts of the woods, I hear the siren like call of the wolves. They are both eerie and haunting and delectably beautiful. I can imagine that the sound is quite alarming to those who do not know or understand. But when you've slumbered to their call, and watched them haunt the grounds like shifting ghouls, you know that they mean no harm. There are more harmful things in the living souls of the residents here, than of the predatory wolves.

'Maybe it is not us that make the plans, more our parents.' my tone is wistful, a thought that occurs to me and hits me like an arrow. I let it embed deep inside of me, and remain. The thought, the thought of being what they want, rather than what I want. Ah, but I was in the same ship as Wayra. I knew not what I really wanted. I stepped forward again, bridging the small gap I had allowed. She had calmed considerably, and I stretched my muzzle back out, this time not touching her silk-like skin. 'Perhaps we sail the same ship, Wayra. Do you care for an adventure?' a chuckle breaks the still silence and my amber eyes light up as they watch her, watch her fumble around with thoughts and words. she seemed far too delicate to wander the pines, she was dressed as a shadow, but was a greater light than anything else.

'Beqanna is full of fantastical creatures. But one never knows when a dragon may be lurking. A serpent, a beast.' my eyes widen a little, the grin on my lips ever widening. 'Perhaps Vercingetorix will be a name feared, revered. and perhaps, perhaps he will save those damsels.' I snort here, the breath coming in plumes of mist around my face as the cold winter's grasp clutches the chamber. 'But not everyone needs saving. I'm sure there are girls that want to be saved, but then there are those that don't even know it.' I pause, eyes flickering, having not noticed they had dropped to the floor. They rose to meet Wayra, roam her body, her eyes and settle there, watchful, observant. Almost seeming to swallow her very existence into my eyes. 'I would want to save them, the ones that don't know it. Perhaps the reward is far greater.' Ah, ah, there, right there, the spark inside of me. I shook my had, grunted a little and turned my gaze away from the blue girl, to study the curves of the pines, the aged lines. 'Have you ever told a tree a secret? I'm sure they have heard many and yet, they are the most trusted in the world...'

vercingetorix

killdare x engelsfors

[Wayra]

Wayra smiled gently at her friend. She was not so very afraid. She couldn't bring herself to fear something her mind couldn't comprehend. It is the here and now she feared, rather than dark magic and strange powers. Contemplation of it may make her uneasy, but still, it cannot seem real. So far she has survived in the Chamber by putting aside the truths that scare her the most. The flaming tree, the enchanted ravens, the beating heart. It is too much for her to consider now, when she is so consumed by her own fate. So, like a child putting away a less loved toy, she set aside certain fears, so that she might worry at them later.

Still, she was touched by his concern, and nickered fondly as he brushed her shoulder with his muzzle. The touch was so soft and so brief, she could almost believe she had imagined it, but no, it was there, and his stunned expression was proof. She pondered for a moment, wondering if she could possibly unsettle him when he barely batted an eye at mystical powers that hardly belong in the world. It is a thought lovely enough to cast an optimistic tint to her brooding thoughts.


“For what it’s worth, I think the Chamber would survive. It seems like she has weathered worse things than a little heartbreak.” It was a joke, but in a way it was also true. Once upon a time she would have said a piece of land doesn’t have a heart, and therefore it can’t be broken. But, the Chamber had a heart, so who is she to say what it can and cannot do?

Wayra’s blue ears swiveled to the sound of wolves, yet she couldn't find it in herself to fear those either. She was much braver, much bolder with a companion by her side. Besides, if she was to fear anything about the Chamber, it would not be its wolves. Yet another thing for her to contemplate another day. Though she did keep one ear pricked, just in case they should wander closer.

Feeling very bold with Vercingetorix by her side, she chuckled melodiously at his words. When Wayra had first seen him she had thought he sparkled like some beautiful thing. Silver and gold. The contrast was striking. But then she had come to see he was not delicate, like a pretty trinket, nor was he made for adornment like something of silver and gold would be. Perhaps more like steel then? Her chuckling turned on herself. The moonlight had a way of making even the most sensible silly, and she is no exception.

“Why, yes. I think I would, care for an adventure. What is one more? When compared to a lifetime of unknowable outcomes?” She smiled, and watched him watch her. He was still a mystery, some unknowable thing with slight cracks in the surface, little glimpses of the thoughts that lay beneath his amber eyes. It would take a far more adept student than Wayra to discern them, though she wished to pry at those cracks, even if it meant only a slight peek.

“Surely the service is greater, when you are saved from a peril you can’t see for yourself.” She puzzlesdit like a riddle, turning it around and around to admire it from all the angles.

“Though perhaps such a girl would be a fool? To unwittingly walk into a trap others can see?” Wayra paused, and considered again, eyes scrunched in thought. Finally she sighed, realizing the futility of pondering a question with no answer.

“Perhaps we are all fools, in one way or another.”Wayra turned to the trees when he does, and smiled at his words. Shyly, almost impishly, she looked back into his eyes.

“Oh, I don’t know, perhaps that is what they whisper about when the wind blows. They tell all the world’s secrets to each other.” For some reason she likeed this idea, the thought of trees as hopeless gossips. Her expression, still sly but pleased, lit on Vercingetorix, and she wondered how he did it, how he managed to turn a heart heavy with burden light.

Wayra

not all who wander are lost