04-26-2016, 10:22 PM
The Nightwalker had no need to hunt them anymore, but still, he did. He could conjure them from the sand like bees riled from a hive he so wished, but he did not. Instead, he searches, he tracks, he stalks. Vanquish is twice-over a king, he has been reborn, renewed and so he does not waste it idling in the laziness his powers could afford him. And so he scours his beautifully bleak kingdom for his prey, the illusive, luscious cactus fruit.
It is today that he chooses the crowns of the sandstone cliffs to rifle through for the occasional patch of cactus, blooming with fat gleaming fruit, clinging to a stone edge. After rifling past a few bluffs with no yield of his quarry he reaches the wider ranges, where the sandstone bloomed with trails and caverns. Tufted black ears flick forward atop his head as his wings hold him steadily in place, allowing the echo his son’s companion’s voice to rumble into recognition. A soft smile edges his lips as he lifts himself higher onto the trail-top, calling out to Feyre with a pleased squeal as he spots her – as well as his son, with the Caracal perched atop his back.
His first instinct is to scold his son, the young prince of the Desert, allowing the cat to roost atop him as if he was not who he was. But time has taught Vanquish better so instead he merely shakes his head with a veiled grin, “I hope you boys are being gentlemen,” he says, a circle of redrock pillars bursting from the sand to ring around the pair, “I would hate to have to put you both in a time-out.” His dark face is stern for a breath before a smile replaces the grim-lipped expression, the pillars sinking back beneath the sand as quickly as they had come.
Vanquish chuckles for a breath, turning to Feyre, a gangly yearling replacing the small filly he had left behind when the war had called for him. “Oh, how you have grown,” he whuffles, reaching out to her muzzle with his own.
.
vanquish
black king of the deserts
