06-21-2016, 01:42 PM
He is so new to this world, and yet the iron he has stolen from his grandsire feels ancient. How strange to imagine his body growing within a womb of flesh and blood. It’s a wonder Rea did not turn carnivorous and crave red meat during her pregnancy. Oh, the toll he must have taken on her. Perhaps, that is why she left him here. Though, it’s more likely that she, being the broodmare of Beqanna, leaves all of her children at their father’s doorsteps.
Knock cannot feel the spirits within others - not like Quark. But, here, on his first glowing morning outside of the womb, he feels death. It is an old death - a story long told by the mouths of many. What Quark had left as a reminder and warning for the descendants of Khaos, that same brood had turned into a god. But to Knock, who knows nothing save his own thoughts, the relic before him looks like sustenance. While the soul has been ripped from the body, the iron still sings to him like siren song.
He wants more, but before he can take it, there is a voice beside him.
“He can’t answer you,” she says.
Knock stares at the face of his grandsire, only now seeing the terror there. His face furrows. He does not understand. But she speaks again, and he listens, this time turning his head to face her. His movements are not soft and silent like hers. His short mane tinkles against his neck, and his iron muscles groan against each other. Even when he blinks there is a faint “ping” when his eyelids meet.
“I do not know.” he tells her, and it is true. He does not know who he is, or why he is here. As hard and intimidating as his body may be, his mind is foggy and unclear. She could tell him anything, and he would believe her. That is the beauty of a newborn child, even if he wears the body of a near grown stallion.
“My name is Knock.” This he does know.