[open] Vous connaissez mon jeu par coeur [Any]

[Chemdog]

Chem remembers pieces of the old world. The way Beqanna sed to be. Even as a young boy he remembers stories, stories of the Chamber of Evil, the Forbidden Dale, the Dewdrop Deserts – the great bachelor warriors of the Frozen Tundra. Many of the kingdoms had begun their descent by the time Chemdog was weaned, and he memory of their politics is very hazy, irrelevant. But he remembers his Grandfather always boasting of being a herdsman even in those days, the days of rivalries and great wars, raids and power struggles – things are mild now, compared to then, even with the recent disasters tat have rolled over Beqanna.

And now the sun has returned, the planets realigned, the light back again. When it is cloudy like today, gray and dim, it reminds him of what it was like for those long hours (who knows how long it was dark, there was no time). The only light is what someone could struggle out of flame, or ethereal glow. His spine tightens, and the scabbed over wound on his shoulder pulses a little. The deep slashes, three long ones all the way across, are almost completely healed but the flesh is forever marred. Not only were the lacerations deep but the poison left a chemical burn behind. The beasts’ fangs dangle in his mane, braided in, a souvenir of his fight. The darkness almost got him.

But he came out more powerful, in his opinion, and the dark magics may have stripped him of his healing but he was now the conductor of souls. He could summon two at his command, and some even summoned just to visit, like his Grandfather, he was getting stronger with it every day. Today he plays with it in the haze of what threatens to be rain, mist falling lightly from the grayness above. He summons a pair of playful ghostly wolves; they romp and play for a moment before disappearing and next come a pair of jays. The fly out from his chest and flutter and swoop, dancing above with no sound, only the ghoulish tinkle as they dart around. They jet away and fly just ahead where the buckskin mare is, diving down and circling her, twittering about mirthfully before disappearing. Chemdog is soon behind their disappearance and approaches her from behind, “Hello.” he grins, taking a deep breath as if smelling the air, “smells like rain.” he turns to her, trying to read whether her response might be of a welcoming tone or if she’s preparing to lay a bite across his face (or maybe somewhere in between).

CHEMDOG
to the window, to the wall

8

@[Bardot]