my shadow tilts its head at me,
spirits in the dark are waiting.
If Nao’s gaze had lingered on Rhonan instead of Magnus, he never would have noticed. It would have been wasted on the shadow boy, and so it’s probably a good thing she barely even directs it his way. He barely even notices the tease, though it’s directed at him, and even if he does notice it it simply rolls of his shoulders. It’s hard to ruffle his feathers even slightly, harder still to get him to bite and play back. Sometimes he gets it, like with Tytos, but witty banter isn’t his strong suit. Brotherly bro’s he can manage, at any rate.
He’s not even paying attention enough to see Magnus’s reaction to him, though it wouldn’t surprise him. Rhonan, honestly, had no real loyalty to the Valley. He just couldn’t think of any other kingdom that would actually want him, a creature made of darkness. He destroyed everything he touched, not that he ever meant to. He simply did. So where was he to go? The Gates, where he’d blacken every flower? The Deserts, where there were no shadows for a boy nearly made of them? Maybe the Tundra, it would be his only other option. But he wasn’t dying to freeze on a daily basis, as it turned out.
So he lived in the Valley, because it accepted him and his many terrible deeds, and his even longer list of flaws. And that was enough. Enough to send him to the field now and again, to consider fighting for the kingdom. Enough to turn him into something that his father might have been proud of, if his father were alive to see it.
The two speak, an interesting pair, though he doesn’t really notice the nuances of their relationship. He notices instead how the shadows do not really touch them, and he wonders if he’s simply wasting his time. Perhaps, but he’s here now, so whatever. They want to be impressed, and he actually laughs at this, something of a rumble with a hinge of the darkness that controls him (or the darkness that he controls, it’s hard to tell which way it works some days, blessing or curse).
Magnus is the first to reply, about how he’s lived for centuries, how he’s died and come back. Rhonan has never died, not really. Never lived for centuries, not really. Yet he has. He lived in Beqanna before the fire (the fire none of them would have ever known). He lived in his world of monsters, creatures he pieced together until they were made better. This was the world with his crow, but then his crow died, and the world broke apart beneath his feet. He lived in Beqanna after the fire, when the horde of dead, charred horses tore away Rhonan’s ghostly friend. The same world in which his own friends turned on one another and tore each other apart. Survival of the fittest, yes?
But he won’t say any of this. He can’t. How could it ever sound like anything other than the ranting of a crazy boy?
And then Yael, who simply has more tricks than he. Rhonan has plenty, certainly, but Yael can match him step for step. Rhonan hasn’t noticed the way the mares eye each other either, like one might be prettier than the other. He can’t even fathom that thought. They aren’t shadow creatures like he is, and to him, they are nothing like Ana, like Rhynn.
Eventually, it’s his turn. And he really isn’t all that skilled at being clever and cunning. He hasn’t died in this world, in the only world any of these horses would know. He doesn’t have magic. So he does what he does best, and just says it bluntly. “The Valley isn’t looking for recruits that come simply because they are impressed with a story or a skill of the recruiter.” He shrugs, and it is rather obviously he doesn’t mean this meanly. Rather, he doesn’t have much tact in social graces, and really, doesn’t care if he offends anyone or not. “We are looking for recruits that want to be in the Valley. Like any other kingdom, there’s power to be had, ranks to be climbed. Me? I like it for the shadows, for the non-judgmental company.” Because lets be real, Yael and Magnus would judge him to hell and back, just where Rhonan belonged. But no one in the Valley ever expected him to be anything but the shadow boy.
“If that’s not your fancy, then there’s no amount of impressing I can do that’ll change that.” And, having talked far more than he likes, he falls silent.
rhonan.