room at the top [any] [finished]

[Scorch]

WATCH THE FLAMES CLIMB HIGH INTO THE NIGHT

How alike they were, the two wanderers. She'd chuckle at the resemblance if she could, but alas, today marked the beginning of their acquaintance - perhaps later they would reminisce together over their similarities. She had fought, she had loved, she had ruled, she had lost, and she had died. And when she'd returned some years ago, to where had she ran first? The meadow. For like him, it would always be a home despite her heartfelt allegiances; the place where she'd met her soulmate; the only place that Beqanna left alone in the Reckoning.

What she did not consider, however, as her gaze lingered on the dappled man, was that he might be even more of a legend than herself. In truth, much of Beqanna was made up of new blood these days; faces from far, far before were nearly extinct. Scorch and Brennen were among the oldest residents; so you couldn't blame the ugly mare for figuring that this plain-looking stallion was probably among the new-bloods. How wrong she was.

The three-quarter moon shed little light on the meadow, but with an extra lid flicked over her roiling red-yellow eyes, Scorch watched the stallion in nightvision. He seemed calm, if a little boring, eyeing the few other meadow-dwellers without expression; a small burr of interest left Scorch's charred lips. Despite his relative plainness, something about him left her curious. The bare skin of her back twitched away the summer flies, having no tail to aid her; when they became too pesky, tiny and precise zaps of light flared where they buzzed and, falling, they were no more.

Figuring that this little show had outed her, Scorch heaved forward from where she stood leaning against a side-lined tree to approach the stallion who'd so easily captured her attentions. Her brow furrowed as she attempted to place him - but she'd lived two lives now, and faces faded faster than she cared to admit. When a comfortable distance remained between them, she halted; and then took another step forward. They needn't be overheard by the meadow-dwellers.

"Hello," came her brusque voice, low and choppy due to her vocal chords having been charred a lifetime ago. For some time, that simple word hung in the air between them with the same energy as the little zaps she'd killed the flies with; tantalizing, to creatures of their size. Her eyes held his own, guarded, and yet, curious.

At long last, she spoke again. "You've been here before." A statement; not a question.

Scorch

Once Khaleesi of the Amazon Jungle

@[Everclear]