a thousand teeth and yours among them; straia

[weed]

she is the lamb; he is the slaughter

Once, Weed hungered to rule the world. It had been marrow-deep and all-consuming. He had molded his life around that desire—bleeding and sweating to see it fulfilled. But time had made Weed a wiser stallion and he no longer hungered to rule the world; now, he hungered to bring it down. There was true power in destruction, a power that could not be truly wielded when you were trying to lead the world by the nose. So he did not envy Straia her position within the Chamber (although he respected her, which he could not say for many). Instead, he simply remained pleased that she gave him the leeway to do as he wished.

“If she finds out, perhaps it will be too late,” he shrugs. Magicians had their uses, but for the most part, they were simply barriers to him. Magic undermined the good old fashioned way of tricking people, and he was tired of having to work around it. “Would you like for me to return to either kingdom? I can perhaps root out Brynmor to get a feel for his allegiance these days.” His dark eyes narrow as he considers her, “Or I can stay here to help you get ready for the war. Simply point me in a direction.”

He did not often give permission to someone to provide him with orders, but he trusted her judgment, and he also knew that she had cards in play that she had not—and most likely would not—tell him about. Weed could be a loose cannon if that is what she preferred, but he had a feeling he would be more useful if he was acting in tandem with her plans, even those plans that he was not privy to.

WEED

© oscar keys

ack. sorry. my weed muse has been super temperamental.