08-19-2025, 06:32 PM
There is a stillness tonight, it sweeps across the Forest like mist over hallowed ground; slow, deliberate, but ethereal. The animals grow silent with purpose—it is an ancient tactic, one that has worked for them generation after generation. When a predator is in their midst, they simply keep quiet to better detect the beast among them.
Nikolas prowls between the rough, white-barked trees and slides his body low to the ground—practically slithering, his form stretching and elongating—to pass under a tree that has half-fallen but caught itself between the branches of another tree.
He does not dare look up, not even as he passes through a dappled patch of silvery moonlight. Because, he believes, if he never looks at the stars, they will forget him. Forget that he escaped and made his way to Beqanna. Forget that he is meant to be among them and not down in the dirt with the sticks and the bugs.
“Love me,” they demand.
And he simply moves on.
What follows in the black, white-marked stallion’s wake is sound. Glorious sound. A signal that danger has came and went; the crickets chirp slow, the owl ruffles its feathers, and the mice skitter around until they find their holes to hide from the owl.
In another part of the Forest, it grows quiet again.
Nikolas prowls between the rough, white-barked trees and slides his body low to the ground—practically slithering, his form stretching and elongating—to pass under a tree that has half-fallen but caught itself between the branches of another tree.
He does not dare look up, not even as he passes through a dappled patch of silvery moonlight. Because, he believes, if he never looks at the stars, they will forget him. Forget that he escaped and made his way to Beqanna. Forget that he is meant to be among them and not down in the dirt with the sticks and the bugs.
“Love me,” they demand.
And he simply moves on.
What follows in the black, white-marked stallion’s wake is sound. Glorious sound. A signal that danger has came and went; the crickets chirp slow, the owl ruffles its feathers, and the mice skitter around until they find their holes to hide from the owl.
In another part of the Forest, it grows quiet again.