but recently, the flames are getting out of control; any

[weed]

I've never told a lie and that makes me a liar I've never made a bet, but we gamble with desire I've never lit a match with intent to start a fire Weed was an enigma, often even to himself. On one hand, he was starved for power--greedy for it in the way a babe cries for its mother. He dreamed of the chaos of his father and the seductive control his mother had wielded over regular stallions and magicians alike. He thought of the sultry purr of the Valley that had tempted him to it, the way the charred land seemed to thrum with promise. It was a stirring in his belly and an ache in his bones. He had even worked for it--visiting kingdoms and the field, attending meetings, wearing a passive smile when he preferred to show his teeth.  But once he had a taste of it, serving as the highest ranked diplomat, he had found himself bored. It was dull work. So he had quit it as easily as he had started, slipping out of the kingdom in the middle of the night without so much as an explanation for where he was going. He owed nothing to them, least of all their infuriating Queen. He had given what he perceived as his best and had been disappointed.  So he had shrugged it off and left. And yet... He still woke up with his thoughts tangled like smoke around the sweet murmurs of the kingdom. He still felt himself lusting after the promises of power and the brushing of it against his lips. He had been close. He had felt it. What marvels it would have been if he could have just fully wielded it! What marvels it would have been to tear that damned smug-faced Queen from the Gates where the cursed tree couldn’t reach him. What a treat it would have been to actually act like he had wanted instead of constantly wearing masks and playing pretend. Not that the masks didn’t serve their purpose, not that he didn’t enjoy the trickery in coyote-smiles and deceptive eyes, but not constantly. Not always. Oh, how Weed lusted for just someone to share his appetite for the metallic tang of despire. Just someone to understand the animalistic desire stirring in his veins, that carnal need to burn the world to the ground. What he wouldn’t give to have a comrade in arms--or at least a sheep to bend to his will. Giving a wolfish smile as he walked into the meadow, he thought of the mares he had led by the nose. He shouldn’t have left them. That was a mistake. Shrugging his elegant black shoulders, he came to a resting spot close enough to the crowds that he could eavesdrop while far enough away that they didn’t mistakenly think he was joining their conversation. His coal black eyes flitted from group to group before he sighed. Pulling the plants from the ground almost absentmindedly, he yanked them up and over his back until the thorns pricked his skin and left their usual scars. Perhaps someone of interest would walk by. Or, perhaps, easy prey.  One corner of his lip twitched. Either would work. { W  E  E  D } carnage and glenna’s plant manipulating monster