but recently, the flames are getting out of control; any

[weed]

she is the lamb; he is the slaughter

That bitch magician had actually managed to hit him.

It had been a graze, thankfully, but it had been enough to daze him for a second, the black stallion taking a staggering few steps backward as his vision went blurry. Everything had gone into slow motion around him, and Weed had felt himself go numb with pain before the world once again went into sharp focus. Kushiel and Erebor had been gone by that time that he found his feet again, and he lifted his handsome, slender head in defiance only to have Straia’s crow of vines land on his back.

‘Consider it a gift.’

And he did.

Recognizing that the fight was, for now, over, Weed had quickly retreated, making his way to their border and then beyond, moving quickly with the crow's feet latched into the plants running along his back. But he was not headed back to the Chamber. Not yet. Instead, Weed made his way toward the jungle, feeling the heat beginning to creep into what was once the crisp, clean air of the meadows.

For a long time, Weed had longed for chaos. Now, he was in the place to execute. He had the backing of the Chamber, of sorts. More importantly, he had the participation of his father. Weed had not known how Carnage would take the proposal, but the nebula god had been interested—as interested as the immortal are in the lives of the mortal, at least. So as he approaches the kingdom, he calls upon that magic.

He shrugs off the plants from him first and is surprised by how vulnerable he feels. Then, his father’s magic begins to work and he feels his appearance shifting. He goes from tall, slender stallion to a short, squat mare, his coat bleeding from shadows to blood. When it is done, he looks like an ugly chestnut, nondescript with small eyes and stubby ears that flick back and forth anxiously between a bushy forelock.

Weed can’t help but smile, nodding to the crow as it takes to the skies and then finds a home in the trees. It could watch, but it wouldn’t do to have the Amazons see himself with the magic crow. Shaking his head, Weed did his best to get into character, his knowing smile slipping into a pinched mouth of concern, his gate going from long strides to choppy steps, his head lifting to let loose a high-pitched cry.

“Amazons!” he yelled, pacing along the border. “Come! Quickly! Anyone!”

WEED

© oscar keys

** Carnage has changed Weed's appearance for this trip so no one will be able to recognize him. Have fun!