All I fear means nothing.
The darkness is split by red light, heat rises from the cracks and he can smell smoke and practically feel the flames licking at his skin; he imagines demons that lick their lips—hungry, starving things that think his sins smell sweet enough to eat. He smiles, all fangs, then prepares to make the leap; but then, a bright white light pierces the darkness behind him and it chases off the shadows and their bloody red. He is being dragged backwards now and it doesn’t matter that he wants to stay; it doesn’t matter that he struggles against whatever force is pulling him along, that his nails scrape and break and his blood smears across the rock. The light wants him. He sneers, reaching again towards the darkness—but the darkness will not have him, not after what he’s done to the Dreamweaver.
At least the light has plans for him.
It places him strategically, so that he might find its intended target that much faster; she’s a pretty thing, sweet and soft, but he is an ugly thing—a twisted being, broken and put together many times over, so he has no qualms about tricking her and bedding her, too. And once the deed is done, he goes; he leaves her alone and doesn’t consider until later what might become of this in the spring.
“A gift,” says the light, nowhere and everywhere all at once.
“Gifts,” he murmurs, disappearing into the shadows.
**
It feels like years have passed since Tarnished last laid eyes on the meadow. His daughter is off, somewhere; frolicking with the fawns, perhaps; he supposes keeping her fed on doe milk has given her a soft spot for deer and he makes a mental note to never eat one in front of her. She’s all he has now. The others are gone, dead or worse. He isn’t sure anymore which is worse. The crowd seems to move in slow-motion; sluggish and zombie-like, they slip out of his way like a wave reluctant to recoil from the shore and he wonders if he should remind them of what he is, who he is—what he can do to them. But the more rational side of him argues that it’s the sudden onset of the cold, not disrespect that makes them slow to move; his right eye twitches, he grits his teeth so hard it hurts.
And then she appears with her little wolf, distracting him.
The transition is almost instant, the anger is gone and he is slightly fascinated by the dynamic happening right in front of him; he wonders how it came to be, as others around them must wonder, too, and his golden eyes flit back and forth as he glances between the two of them. Soon, curiosity gets the best of him and he slinks forwards; slow, but deliberate, he keeps his attention focused mainly on the wolf while he approaches the mare. “Hello,” Tarnished says, stopping far enough away so as not to be be seen as much of a threat.
“Interesting, that,” he nods his head towards the wolf. “You don’t see one of those traveling with a horse everyday.”
tarnished
equus mutatio, immortality, disease manipulation, trait immunity