hangman hooded, softly swinging; don't close the coffin yet, I'm alive
He cannot outrun his pain.
He cannot outhunt his fury.
He carries it with him, day and night, and he feels himself changed by the weight of it. It is different from the kind of bloodlust that once brought him to rain down his fury on kingdoms and slit the throats of any who would oppose him. It is different from the pain of being rejected by the Chamber. It is different from the loneliness of being forgotten, the panther-king wasting away in the shadows of that pine kingdom.
This is eternal, and heavy, and he would break under it if he did not carry the hope of reversing it.
If he did not think he could find a solution to bring her back.
(He has to bring her back. He has to make this right.)
He has grown tired of terrorizing the prey population of Hyaline though and so his black mood carries him to the forest where he slaughters a different herd. His feline mouth is painted red with the lifeblood of the deer, but his belly is empty—he has no hunger for the things that he kills these days.
It is only when he sees the flash of blue and white that he pauses, shifting back into his equine self. He stalks forward, unafraid of the young dragon (maybe she would kill him and he could find Ryatah in the afterlife, heaven knows he is familiar with it). If the pain in her own face is a mirror, he ignores it. Instead he focuses on how the lines of her look so familiar to Ryatah that his throat constricts.
She is not his own, but she may as well be.
“Casi,” he says her name softly, unsure of where they stood but the thought of being close to someone so familiar nearly breaking him. His voice is thick with unshed tears, and he steps forward again.
“How have—“ he starts before stopping, shaking his head.
It was a silly question to ask.
He knew exactly how she had been.
@Casimira
![[Image: atrox.png]](https://i.postimg.cc/XBppy9VY/atrox.png)
now be defiant, the lion, give them the fight that will open their eyes