She knows the metallic tang of blood the instant it hits the air, recoils from it with a faint clench of muscle along the delicate lines of her jaw. It is the kind of scent that snakes into her mouth, settles like copper on the back of her tongue until she is gagging on it, inching back with wary amber eyes. The forest around her seems suddenly darker, suddenly deeper as she narrows her eyes against the starlight to try and pick shapes out of the edgeless shadows. But she is not sure what it is she looks for - a phantom of her father, dressed in ribs and rubies? No, that is the stuff of nightmares, the creep of fear born from the unknown, slithering beneath her skin.
Still, her wings unfurl softly from her sides, wide enough to carry her off among the stars, but the even thump of hooves against rot and dirt give her pause. They lower, if only slightly, just enough that she can feel the wing-tips brush against her golden sides. Ghosts don’t have feet. Or if they do, they certainly do not make a sound.
I can hear you. She thinks to tell them, has the words in her mouth but not the willpower to say them aloud. There is a part of her that does wonder if they even know she is there, if it is luck that these footsteps draw nearer the longer she stands submerged in shadow. Probably. She is always the first to know. First to see and hear and smell. First to unravel secrets not meant for her young ears.
It does take a moment to notice that the reek of blood is growing more potent too, clinging like shadow to the edges of those sonorous thumps. It makes her uneasy, ties wet knots in the pit of her belly, slithering and thrashing though she tries not to notice. She takes another step back, ears flattening into the tangles of dark, wild mane, wings dropping low again to pinch against her sides. It’s as though she is trying to be small, trying to be invisible.
It doesn’t work.
All the hairs along her spine lift instantly at the sound of her name on this strangers lips. She frowns, brow furrowed deeply beneath her forelock, and feels every muscle in her small body tighten and recoil. “You’re very loud.” She says, and despite that the words are soft and whispered, the accusation is very clear. It doesn’t matter that he abides the norms of society, slowing to a halt and dipping his head at her in greeting - it is so completely eclipsed by the fact that her name has no place on his lips. She chooses not to say so though, forcing her ruffled feathers smooth and the tension from the muscles coiled beneath her golden coat. It is less easy to hide the exhausted tremors that steal through her, so she eases past him towards the waters edge like she was headed there all along, relying on the motion to mask everything else. There is a clench in her belly, fear blossoming in her cavern of her chest at turning her back on him, but she knows she’ll be able to hear the weight of his steps when he follows behind her, the breath in his chest build if he plans to do anything more than follow.
“Why are you here?” She asks, and she’s proud of the way her voice sounds smooth and steady despite the unease that even now continues to grow inside her. But she is impatient too, worried not just that he’s a stranger with a name that doesn’t belong to him, but that he does know her because he was sent by mother or Sibyl with news of father. What if something had happened after she left? She half turns so her eyes can settle on him easily in a dark that isn’t dark to her, prying secrets from a face made of stone.
marble
@[laura]