I am a fire and I must burn today; elysteria, weir, any

[Ramiel]

ghost king of the dale >>

Sunlight filters down between the boughs of an old beech tree, spilling across the slope of his back in jagged patterns.  He welcomes the warmth, though it is merely a taste of what is to come.  The spring season is still early, after all, and only a few hours ago he’d been chilled by morning’s sharp breath.  All too soon, the bowl-shaped Dale will be full to the brim with heat and humidity.  Instead of seeking out the sun, the residents will seek cover from it during the peak hours of the day.  And as much as he enjoys the changing of the seasons, the stallion prefers this time the most – the inbetween time.  He relishes the cool kiss of morning on his skin and the blue-skies and tepid breezes of the afternoon.

As Ramiel rests easily under the towering plant, he watches the others in various stages of their early rituals.  One horse meanders down to a slow-moving tributary of their wild river, drinks hungrily from the gleaming depths.  Another sets off into the black-dark of the dense woodland beyond.  He catches the flashing movement of a tail before the shadows completely envelop the horse.  Briefly, he thinks about following the unknown-from-this-distance individual.  Perhaps they are off to patrol the borders; maybe they can divide and conquer the task.  These days, the more watching eyes, the better.  But just as the grey stallion has taken a step into the full sunlight beyond his tree, another thought occurs to him: if it is more eyes they need, he knows exactly where they might be found.  Best of all, none of them even have to leave the kingdom in order to procure the additional assistance.

 
Somewhere, nestled up high in the mountains, the spirits have almost matured.

Ramiel has made countless trips up and down the treacherous path to the pool over the last several years.  He’s watched the creature in the water grow from an indistinguishable puff of white to a lean, juvenile bird that he still has no name for.  He imagines he will, though, and that it will be sometime soon.  Already, the bird has the curved, sharp beak of a predator and the glinting, intelligent eyes of a hunter.  It is his soul in the flesh - or it is supposed to be, anyway – but he is still surprised by the choice.  And despite the kinship he feels every time he locks eyes with the staring avian, he’s not sure it is truly his soul looking back at him.

Is he a hunter?  Is the ability to kill settled deep into the hollows of his bones, yet untested but still present regardless?

He’s not sure, but he is of so little these days that he’s grown used to uncertainty.  It fuels him now as he makes his way back up the increasingly familiar trail.  Because even if they have no idea what these souls are capable of, (perhaps they are nothing more than intangible curiosities, serving only to distract them from the real world below) they have to be as prepared as they can.  He’d promised the unsettling Deserts stallion as much when he came bearing news of the Valley’s growing unrest.  He’d said not to underestimate the Dale, and he’d meant it.  For now, solving one riddle would possibly solve so much more.  Using the creatures in the coming war would be an asset that they cannot pass up, if the opportunity is available to them.  

And when he finally makes his way to the top of the hillside (his breath catching slightly from effort) he sees that he will not be alone in piecing together the mystery.  There is someone else, he can see their movement, but they are largely covered by the foliage rising around the pool at the center of the clearing.  “Good morning,” his smooth voice calls out ahead, not wanting to frighten whoever has come even earlier than he.  Ramiel shuffles closer, easing his way between a few thorny plants before he emerges into the empty space beyond.  The spring-fed pool dips into the ground at his feet, clear and cold and full of secrets.  Already, he can see the beady black eyes peering at him from just beyond the lip, conjured by its keeper’s presence.  “Strange, isn’t it?”  He finally pulls his gaze from the bird to look at his companion, familiarity like light on his face.  “But beautiful, too.  What do you see?”
 

ramiel