you don't recover from a night like this; ramiel / any

[weed]

she is the lamb; he is the slaughter

Weed does not stop running until he is long out of sight from the Amazons. The magic of his first trick wears off of him slowly, and he feels his stubby, clumsy red legs morphing into the long, elegant legs of his normal self, the raven made of vines flying alongside him, swooping on either side. It was exhilarating to play the trickster, and although he had no way of knowing if his seed would take root or not. Of course, that was not the purpose. Even if the Amazons did not pledge all-out war, he was planting small hits here and there, meticulously picking away at the peace that Beqanna so tentatively held onto.

It was deliciously wicked.

Slowing down, he walked for a while to catch his breath, making his way slowly to the next kingdom—and his next target. As he walks, the gift from Straia takes flight once more and goes into hiding, where he knows it will watch with its beady eyes and then take the information to the Chamber Queen. His father’s magic once again takes hold, but this time he does not shift into the small, squat red mare. Instead, he becomes taller, his muscles more pronounced, the feathering on his legs softly falling against the ground.

Instead of the thin, slender black stallion, he becomes bulkier, larger, more warrior and less trickster. His coloring goes from onyx to a handsome, dappled gray, his face heavy and neck thick. Pleased with the transition, he moves to the edge of the Dale’s border where he lets loose a deep, resounding cry for whoever happened to be nearby. For good measure, he has urgency to it, but it does not have the same desperation that he had added when he had been in the Amazon. This was a different game altogether.

WEED

© oscar keys

** Carnage has morphed Weed so he is not recognizable. Just a head's up! <3