i am the mace, the map, the fall and the high
She is as reckless and heedless as he remembers her to be, no caution in her steps as she crashes against the surf as though she could break it like the stones behind her. He sees first, a wisp of future he isn’t entirely certain would come to pass. But he goes to that place along the cliffs because he has always loved to gamble.
He has always loved the sense of satisfaction when the gamble pays off.
The bone-clad stallion watches with undisguised curiosity as she arrives like the monsoon her skin has now become. He can see the changes in her even before he sees the rest of it. Memories of terror and pain. Memories of a stolen future and distant, faraway monsters. Memories of a filly with trembling knees left behind.
His own thoughts stutter at that, but he quickly recovers. She has a life just as he does. He would be a hypocrite to begrudge her that.
Perhaps he is a hypocrite though.
Rune shrieks in the sky overhead as Reave begins his descent to the rock-strewn beach battered by thunderous waves. The storm building around them makes the salt-spray of the sea wild and unpredictable, but Reave has never balked at danger. Rune might chide him for it, but what sense of caution he’d ever had had been stolen and remade into the bird. The red and white Guardian is left only with his own clawing need to act.
When he reaches the surf where she stands, Reave draws to a halt several paces behind her, blue eyes glittering in the skull masking his features. When he finally speaks, the words are threaded with an amusement that can’t quite cover the bite of the words. “You’ve been busy.”
reave
@galadriel