"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
03-05-2020, 01:22 PM (This post was last modified: 03-05-2020, 01:23 PM by Haunt.)
we scream our very souls free
In the cool embrace of shadow, there are few places Haunt cannot go. Few doors a thing made of living darkness cannot truly open. But, for all that, there are places where they choose to linger. The darkest depths, the corners of the earth where everything belongs to the night. The places where few others dare to tread. Where one footstep is that much less certain than the last, because shadow has eaten all the light.
These are the places where the creature’s reign is indisputable.
But of course, they are also, ultimately, incredibly boring. And if there is one thing certain to turn Haunt away eventually, it is boredom.
The forest is a familiar playground to the shadow. A place of depthless twilight and yet brimming with fascination. The edges of darkness, as close as those unfamiliar with it’s truth are so often willing to venture. Today however, it is not those lackluster souls that catch their eye.
No, it is another thing. One far more beast than Haunt had ever dared to be. It reeks of blood and death, a dangerous combination to most, but one of utter intrigue to the impossible creature that is Haunt. A beast designed only to feed, the very opposite of them, who needs no sustenance at all. How terrifyingly interesting.
After a moment of silent observance, Haunt speaks, curiosity quelling any caution that may have existed. “Do you speak?”
For once, the creature is not hungry. Not in an intense way, not the way it normally feels hunger. It had recently fed on a scrawny stag who was only just beginning to fatten again with the coming of spring. His blood still stained her armoured body, splashes of it on the curve of her dome. Later it will clean the blood away so that it does not fester and grow a stench (a lesson it learned in its youth) but for now it wanders through the forest. It has enjoyed the canyons of Pangea, the endless labrynth that often provides a meal from the unlucky ones who get lost, but the shadows of the forest are viewed with something of a fondness.
If it could feel fondness.
There are no true thoughts to interrupt but it pauses when it sees something new. Vaguely like the horse-creatures, just as it is itself, but not quite. A shadow with eyes.
While it recognizes the sounds he makes as those that belong to the horse-creatures, the creature does not understand that a question is being asked. Does not know that the snarl that it gives in response and the hollowness of it’s black eyes are answer enough. A threatening flick of that knife-tipped tail and a single step forward is all it does, for now, while its spined head tilts almost curiously.
Yes, that alien snarl is more than enough. That simple sound reveals that which it lacks: an ability to speak. Haunt suspects there is more, but they would need to discover that through other means. A unique prospect that makes this encounter all the more intriguing to the unusual shadow. Words are not always necessary to tell stories.
No doubt the creature is accustomed to certain reactions in the face of the chilling sound, but it serves only to bring a grin to Haunt’s lips. A brief flash of jagged teeth, quickly masked by a more subtly intrigued smirk. A thinking creature might find it odd a shadow who does not eat possesses a mouth full of teeth designed to shred. Of course, that would lead to the inevitable conclusion that such teeth, if not designed for eating, have a much more sinister purpose.
It’s perhaps fortunate in many ways then that Haunt had yet to discover that purpose.
“Oh dear.” Though Haunt speaks, it is no longer for the benefit of their strange companion. “Are you lost? Poor thing. Don’t you know it’s a scary place out here?” The words are a lyrical coo, uttered on a low, almost gentle note as the shadow sidles precariously near.
But then, Haunt had never had the sense to know fear.
This creature does not know what it feels like to be taunted or teased. All the words continue to be lost on ears that do not translate anything but the tone (which is not full of fear or anger, two emotions that it can, usually, understand). And there is another language it knows - that of teeth. For a moment, the flash of the sharp teeth possessed by this shadow give the horned monster pause, its great crowned head continuing to tilt curiously.
The snarl is replaced by a low, clicking noise as it takes another few steps forward, flicking that prehensile tail behind it like a cat twitching theirs out of agitation. This is its language, creaks and clicks and teeth. Although it does not recognize the shadow as one of its family, nor one of Anaxarete’s protected pack, it hesitates on attacking for just a moment.
Just to be sure.
The teeth alone are not a deterrent - although it favours the taste of horse flesh, it finds predators a good alternative. They are usually good for a meal and exercise as they fight back. And it is curious about what this shadow-with-teeth will taste like. Cool like the shade of the forest? Bitter like the shadows its master teleports through?
