when the stars threw down their spears and water'd heaven with their tears:
He’d wanted a cure for boredom, hadn’t he? These days it seems like Heartfire does everything but disappoint him, which is a refreshing set of pace. Of course, that doesn’t stop him from looking between the odd pair when the obviously drawn-out word “us” drips from the black things lips. Wyrm would chuckle, if he felt so inclined, but even he believes Heartfire can do better than a simmering wimp. Only dogs cowered and bled in the dirt like filthy animals; and only weak-minded simpletons believed they could lump themselves into the same group as horses like Heartfire. “Forgive him, for now.” Wyrm contemplates, relaxing visibly while his spotted companion answers curtly. “He doesn’t know you.”
“But ... “ he thinks when a blue-black shadow emerges from thin air itself, only to wrap adoringly about the dying thing. The stippled creature is a surprising addition. “... perhaps he should.” And then his child’s mother is warning the girl, the grass surrounding them flaking into infinitesimal dust. He blinks in surprise, clearly unprepared for the display of animosity that rolls from her in waves. And my … what destruction it causes. “You’ve been holding out on me, I see.” The green stallion murmurs aloud, solely for the intention of Heartfire, though the other two will undoubtedly hear it.
He moves, animated as if by strings - strange to gaze upon and wholly unnatural - while the wings melt back into his bright jade skin, fading until they become no more. Wyrm only pauses when the tip of a single hoof threatens to touch down over the earth his speckled woman has erased, but he thinks better of it and places it back beside the other. “Luster, come now. How could you mistake me?” He teases, the sharp inclination of a grin lifting one half of his lips. “I thought we were friends.” He purrs, each word heavy with guilt. The green washes from the tip of his tail, lifting over his croup and gliding upwards over his shoulders, his neck, while leaving behind a glimmering dappled grey coat. It pools into a familiar star on his forehead and there it rests, with only Cinder to stand in the place he once stood.
“And you.” He finalizes, tone dropping while his bright eyes flicker to where the unknown stallion lays, “Have you lost your teeth, or perhaps your tongue, that you would shield yourself so pathetically behind a young mare for protection?” He asks, head tilting in sorrowful curiosity. “Be careful about your answer.” He warns quickly after, a soft laugh rumbling from deep within his chest. “Or I might be inclined to take both from your mouth by force.”
did he smile his work to see? did he who made the Lamb make thee?
