we scream our very souls free
Haunt hums, the vibrations low and delighted, as Misfit noses at the dark curl of mane against an equally dark neck. The little shadow enjoys the touch, so used to being one of many that it seems far more odd to be alone than to be pressed against someone so familiar and warm. This is the comfort Haunt seeks, the home the little creature knows.
A mischievous grin spreads across Haunt’s lips as Misfit leans back, peering at the shadow with uncertain eyes as he asks if they would go with the shadows. Bright yellow eyes gleam in the dim light of the forest, eerily delighted by the thought of whisking away through the darkest recesses of Beqanna. Of existence. And without his mother here to whisper sensible discouragement in the blue and gray colt’s ear, he readily agrees to Haunt’s rather wild suggestion.
With a giggle, the shadow child scrambles to spindly legs, youthful features alight with (faintly devilish) joy. “Through the shadows,” Haunt whispers conspiratorially into Misfits ear, before another delighted giggle escapes impossibly black lips. Oh, but how Haunt loves this! There is something so terribly exciting in stepping through the shadows and finding oneself in another place entirely.
“Just walk,” Haunt advises, that grin pasted to delighted features, displaying small, pointed teeth that might be sinister were it not for the clear brightness of that dark face. Pushing shoulder to shoulder, Haunt boldly encourages Misfit forward, reaching into the shadows as Dad had taught, allowing them to swallow the pair whole.
