[open] love as thou wilt; any

[Namaah]

Namaah stepped quietly through the darkness, at home in a landscape others might consider unsettling. Her mother’s strange wanderings ensured that she could at least assume an air of confidence where none existed, but truthfully, she preferred interminable night to day. She felt hidden, a part of the world around her. Like the Beqanna of old had reached out to envelop her and the pretty immortal had only to lean in and let it take charge. She flicked her ears to catch and follow the soft sounds of a stream and wondered, more than a little suspiciously, if her father might have had something to do with the perpetual midnight that now enveloped her old haunts. Dramatic, her mother would have said, with a tinge of exasperation and good humor. The temper tantrum of a narcissist. Gallows had negative amounts of reverence for the shenaningans of the one many called ‘the dark god’. Gallows never did. She had several other terms that made Namaah blush to hear them and look over her shoulder as if Carnage would appear like a bogeyman out of the shadows. Namaah herself didn’t have much of an opinion on her father. He wasn’t the traditional sort of parent (although admittedly her mother wasn’t precisely maternal) and the winged dapple gray had only met him the once in passing. His cold eyes and aura of austere confidence, most likely meant to intimidate, had only served to confuse the naïve filly. When she grew up and into her oversized wings and brains, her confusion turned to a vague but general relief that her acquaintance with the giant of Beqanna had ended before it truly began. She could only suppose he had so very many offspring and projects on hoof that the former Queen of a territory long destroyed and her little daughter occupied no space in his twisted mind. A small part of Namaah wondered if Carnage in fact grudgingly admired Gallows’ spirit and that’s why he’d sired her two children but never extended his reach to harm her. Namaah was perfectly happy to never have the chance to satiate her curiosity along those lines. Her father was best left as an enigma who existed on a plane beyond her reach or understanding. She turned farther inland and wished that she’d been born with something useful like night vision. The stream she’d heard led to a lake, one that had likely existed since creation, and a familiar sight to the petite mare with osprey wings. She’d followed her mother here on Valley business decades ago and it was with genuine relief that Namaah saw it was largely unchanged. Her presence in the field felt cliched, but necessary, like a rite of passage to prove her worth. To whom, she wasn’t quite sure, but the rightness of it lent Namaah an air of self assurance as she ruffled her wings in the unnatural night breeze and preened loose feathers. Namaah gallows x carnage

[Murc]

He isn’t sure why he is here.

When the world shown bright and his heart dared to place hope in a life where he was a father and husband to the queen of Nerine, relief became an emotion he could hold with warm hands. The large drafted male plodded near the dark queen with feathered feet and an adoring lavender eye till shortly after the son was born...then she had bid him goodbye under the very cloak of dark much like now.

He had felt confused, hurt. How could she have just wished him away without much more than the scent of her skin on their still skin warmed bed? He would not understand and never know. All he could do was raise his son and keep him safe until the day he too left.

Now the field. A place the homeless wandered, a land of naive young things wallowing away in their own destitute and frustration till something pretty came by and plucked them out of the dirt hovels. Murc was neither pretty nor a savior anymore. He is a large dark bastard, heavy in the neck and body but there is a small air of grace in his movements. The blood of Andalusian? Of Mustang? A muddle beast is all that can be truly recognized.

She is pretty in a world flooded by color and magic. The grey pallets of skin stretching over a refined bone body, his lavender eyes appreciated a light woman, and he attempts to not stare from across the field as he walks towards her. The lavender-grey eyes are beneath a thick fold of dark hair but he gives it a light toss so he may greet her properly. ”Alone then?” Conversation had not been a strength ever for him. The dark stallion shifts his gaze away politely, moving his wright from one leg to the other, ”me too.”, he adds in the gap of space between his words.

[Namaah]

Namaah wasn’t young although she appeared so. Most of her companions in the field seemed to be youthful in nature, if not age, something the dappled gray mare didn’t remember feeling. Even as a child her playful nature was tinged with a solemnity as if someone had assigned her some great task she was already preparing for. In reality, being the daughter of a metaphorical giant who appeared anything but serious has probably been the biggest factor in her personality. Although Gallows had taken care of her daughter, Namaah often felt like the adult in the relationship. Perhaps that’s why being alone didn’t frighten her. She wasn’t the best of fighters but she felt confident in her ability to defend if needed. Most of all, however, she trusted in her innate sense of self. There were enough physical dangers in the world, but those weren’t her enemy. She hears his approach before she sees him, a bit of fluttery anticipation rising in her chest. She’s been lonely since she left her mother. The prospect of a chat and companionship brightens her already lovely features. Her ears prick forward and she studies his lavender gray eyes and dark coat curiously. It’s a flattering combination, and unusual. Although from what she’s been able to see during this perpetual night, not uncommon anymore. (If anything, seeing the new and fascinating diversity of equine in Beqanna is what makes her feel her age) Mostly she notices how he towers over her slight form, a heavy, dark form of indeterminate background. “Not anymore.” She offers him one of her dazzling, full smiles, ruffling her wings and tucking them against her sides so that the tips rake the ground. “I’m Namaah.” She doesn’t ask his name. She knows he will give it. Instead she nickers softly, contented. Namaah gallows x carnage

[Murc]

He traces quickly, agilely, over the curves that swell her hips and the sink of the tender flesh that connects her womanly frame. He plucks at her layers, his ashen violet eyes reading beneath the tributaries on her veins to sink deeper. He stares and does not his his gaze as the dappled mare offers her name. Murc remains quiet for a moment, relishing in the small elevation of his heart to finally exchange words with a pretty stranger.

The dark man settles near her with a mud closed hind leg casually hocked. He relaxes though his gaze remains still stoic. Her name was Namaah, the beat of a moth’s wings is the only was he could encapsulate they way is tingled in his brain. ”Namaah, it is?”He could not resist the urge to taste her name on his whiskered, cracked lips. She was far too delicate to be in the company of a man like him. She belonged somewhere warm with a beach, sunning in a golden pool.

” I’m Murc.” A slight shrug rolls his scarred shoulders but there is a hint of a smile tugging at the edge of his lips. He finds himself fond of this little mare. Wish I were able to say I had a home to offer...but I don’t. I’m here looking as well.” The words are a low baritone, rich and intoxicating. ”Maybe we find a place near? See if they might take a few beggars in?” Murc finds himself jesting and it even jars him a bit. When had he developed a sense of humor? He eyes the pretty mare with his lavender eyes again, what witchcraft was she using upon him...