forget all the names we used to know
Once, many moons ago, Crevan remembered sneaking up another little filly who was probably grown now. Back then he’d been living in Sylva, a hungry understudy of the more ill-inclined horses who took up residence there in order to sow the seeds of terror throughout Beqanna. His task had been to capture another horse, and Crevan had taken his duties seriously and to heart, finding a lone filly quickly enough since he’d bent all of his time and energy to fulfilling the needs of an alpha-figure. He remembered how the blue-skinned girl with a shock of purple hair had been alone in a dried-out creek bed, and how she’d turned (surprisingly expectant of his arrival) to blast him off his paws with a beam of white-hot light.
The young are full of vigor, and the old are stuffed with useless nonsense. He’s somewhere in between, eternally.
“Oh? And what would you know about ‘normal’?” Crevan challenged her with a mockingly surprised grin. He sat abruptly, thumping the ground once or twice with his tail.
“Nothing, I’d expect. In the same vein nothing you’d expect lies underneath my skin.” The shapeshifter tilted his head curiously, ears perked. He wondered if she’d tried to string him along like her little macabre pet; Crevan hadn’t felt a thing, if she had. His limited understanding of the world and magic within it reasoned that what worked on the dead could not, inversely, work on the living (and vice versa).
“Curious to see it?” He tempted her, straightening his head. He had, more than once. Seen the silver metal of his bones exposed before the skin could knit itself tight and clean again. To show the little puppeteer would be an instant’s worth of pain on his end. Worth it, he reasoned, to keep the young stranger entertained.
revan
@[Persiphae]