[open] I'll tell them put me back in it; any

[Dretch]

DRETCH

... and from your lips she drew your hallelujah

She’d tired of tracking him. Meyer, no longer a scruffy orphan, had grown in body and in power in the few short years he’d spent with them, his spirit indomitable despite the best efforts of a few. Then he had stolen away in the night some months back and when it was clear he had no intention of returning, Dretch had set off herself, tracking and then trailing him. Not to drag him back again. She couldn’t even if she’d wanted to. Someone had taught him how to wield his powers and the lanky bay had grown particularly adept at snitching her shapeshifting. She’d just wanted to know why he had left to do … nothing. Because, as far as she could tell, he did nothing aside from existing, wandering and hiding in the common lands. How boring. She scowls, running out along the tree branch and leaping to the ground many dozens of squirrels below. Shifting as she falls, red squirrel becomes black mare and she lands easily, bending her knees to absorb the impact before taking off running across the meadow. Something had happened to her not long ago and much to her delight, she no longer grows tired. Running is the best way to burn off the excess of energy she constantly finds herself worth and she’d quickly learned to be as sure-footed as she is fleet-footed. The cry of pain and shock startles her, though, as unexpected and full of anguish as it is, that causes her to stumble over a hillock in the grass and it’s all she can do to keep her feet underneath her as she skids to a stop. No second cry follows the first but the sound reverberates in her ears, making her skin crawl with empathy. Pinning her ears, she considers a moment before turning and making her way back toward the sound’s source. It’s a stallion, outwardly unhurt though his orange eyes roll about frantically as if the sky were falling and the dark god himself was coming to get him. As always, on the occasion thoughts of him cross her mind, she takes a moment to look around, as if the very thought might conjure him. She cocks her head, tonguing a fang. She should just leave him to his own devices. She is turning back toward the River again to leave when the eagle-adorned one shows up. He’s too far away to catch what he says, but it’s not likely she would have noticed, anyway. She has eyes only for the harpy eagle at the second stallion’s hip, fresh blood seeping from between gripped talons. “He’s lovely …,” she breathes and maybe they’ll hear her, maybe not. She glances toward the first stallion again, frowning. “What’s with you?” It’s really none of her business but that’s never stopped her before.

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