jamie
01-02-2021, 07:00 PM
Jamie
He is at home in this strange darkness.
This darkness that he is certain Beyza constructed specifically for him. She had promised to bring the underworld to Beqanna and, as he sees it, she had made good on her promise.
It makes the shadow thing almost giddy. The heart pulses with such a wild thrill. He has never known happiness, Jamie, not like this. The kind of unfettered delight that fixes that shark-took smile to his peculiar, featureless face.
It reminds him of an old friend, this darkness. The cave dweller. The opponent who had vowed to destroy him. Perhaps things might have turned out differently if death had not stolen the shadow thing’s conscience. Perhaps it would have pained him too greatly to harm his friend, perhaps he might have laid down in surrender and let the blue stallion kill him. Perhaps he would have begged him to.
But the shadow thing has no conscience to speak of, not anymore, and he had fought instead. Under any other circumstances, he might have sought out the cave dweller to apologize for the way things had turned out.
And yet.
He does seek out his old friend, but it is not to apologize. He finds him in the forest, which is the first place their paths crossed. And he can feel the memory of that encounter in the cage of his chest. How terribly it had pained him to realize Balto’s lie. How he had wailed with it!
He approaches the blue stallion without an ounce of malice. He tilts his peculiar head and flashes that same shark-tooth smile, acutely aware of the things that loiter in the shadows.
“Balto,” he murmurs, rasping, “old friend.”
This darkness that he is certain Beyza constructed specifically for him. She had promised to bring the underworld to Beqanna and, as he sees it, she had made good on her promise.
It makes the shadow thing almost giddy. The heart pulses with such a wild thrill. He has never known happiness, Jamie, not like this. The kind of unfettered delight that fixes that shark-took smile to his peculiar, featureless face.
It reminds him of an old friend, this darkness. The cave dweller. The opponent who had vowed to destroy him. Perhaps things might have turned out differently if death had not stolen the shadow thing’s conscience. Perhaps it would have pained him too greatly to harm his friend, perhaps he might have laid down in surrender and let the blue stallion kill him. Perhaps he would have begged him to.
But the shadow thing has no conscience to speak of, not anymore, and he had fought instead. Under any other circumstances, he might have sought out the cave dweller to apologize for the way things had turned out.
And yet.
He does seek out his old friend, but it is not to apologize. He finds him in the forest, which is the first place their paths crossed. And he can feel the memory of that encounter in the cage of his chest. How terribly it had pained him to realize Balto’s lie. How he had wailed with it!
He approaches the blue stallion without an ounce of malice. He tilts his peculiar head and flashes that same shark-tooth smile, acutely aware of the things that loiter in the shadows.
“Balto,” he murmurs, rasping, “old friend.”
( FROM THE DESTRUCTION, OUT OF THE FLAME
YOU NEED A VILLAIN, GIVE ME A NAME )
YOU NEED A VILLAIN, GIVE ME A NAME )
@[Balto]