After so many years stalking his grandson, Wyrm feels acutely more excited about the boundary he’s going to break today than Pteron might ever realize. He’d spent days, nights, weeks and now years watching in on the little threads Wolfbane had woven about him, getting to know the family who never knew him. When Heartfire had begun to add herself into the mix he knew there wasn’t much point in staying hidden any longer.
Soon the vision of his future would align, and Wyrm would have his desires met.
What to do with the boy’s boy, though? His birth had been a hiccup - unexpected, like the coupling of Bane and Lepis. For a few months the shape-shifter actually felt that his chance for redemption had eclipsed and that Pteron’s birth spelled inevitable doom, but those worries faded away.
Wolfbane was the goal; Pteron was simply means to an end.
With claws gripping a rough branch in the heart of the Forest, Wyrm (fashioning himself into the body of an eagle) spread apart two great wings and shot up from his perch, out into the empty sky. He saw nothing plainly, couldn’t feel the wind sting his eyeless sockets, but he certainly could transform his throat and did so, chittering away to echolocate taller objects as he coasted above them.
When he reaches the southern lands, the eagle slows and descends atop the plains of Loess. Touching down, his wings fold and shrink away to form fore paws, the talons beneath him shifting back under his belly to make a matching pair of brown swirled, faintly sandy hind paws. Now he’s become a coyote, thin and wiry, padding along sightlessly through the cold wasteland. To help him search, the shifter continues to chitter now and then, trotting swiftly through all manner of bush and plant before stopping to lift his narrow head, flick wide, satellite ears and chit chit to get another picture.
At last, a distinctly equine smell hovers yards away and Wyrm draws himself to an abrupt halt. “Is anyone there?!” He rattles out, coughing afterwards from pure exhaustion. For now it suits him to play the part of a blind, lost wanderer. “I’m terribly confused!” He tries again, “Won’t someone help?”
@[Pteron]
what is left when honor is lost?
The olive-eyed colt stands at the edge of the red cliff, his gaze pointed south toward the rippling pampas grass and the faintest shimmer from the southern sea. Are his parents somewhere down there, he wonders? Of are they still somewhere far beyond his reach, beyond the stretches of endless water? Pteron sighs, and shakes his head. Wondering does him no good, the winged boy thinks, and his time would be better spent doing other things. Even without Dad and Ma to guide him, the yearling knows what they would want of him.
Serve Loess.
It has not been a difficult task so far, but it has also been exceptionally brief. In fact, this is his very first guard. He’d decided to take the task upon himself, and even if his sentry point is simply watching the friendly southern land, it is still something worthwhile. Or so he tells himself.
It is also rather boring, and so when he hears an unfamiliar sound his is instantly focused. It si not something he has heard before, soft a gentle. It reminds him of bats, but no bat should be out this time of day. It is far too early. A deep breath reveals the smell of a coyote and when it appears (coughing and hacking) Pteron knows that this is unlikely to be a normal animal. This is confirmed when it speaks, a sad and plaintive voice that tugs at the boy’s gentle heart.
“What do you need?” He asks, rather than question the stranger’s arrival in a land he should be guarding. “How can I help?” Asks the young pegasus as he takes a step closer, his pale nostrils flaring and his green eyes open with concern.
@[Wyrm]
“Och; a young gentleman.” The scraggly coyote guesses when Pteron answers him, wagging a stiff tail and pointing his quivering nose in the direction that the boy approaches. “Not many left in these times, I thank you sonny.” Wyrm mutters in a gravely tone. He sits.
“Names Wyrm. Been wandering these parts for some fresh water!” The eyeless predator cackles, sending his bent and frayed whiskers into a frenzy of quivering action. With his current demeanor and the surrounding, unfamiliar territory the excuse seems plausible. He looks like a rug stretched over bones, with fiddlesticks for legs and the tight bowcurve of a starving belly. “You from around these parts? Think you could help an old scavenger out, kiddo?” He questions hopefully.
After that he falls silent, cheerfully optimistic enough to wait for a reply. Only his nose continues to move, sorting out the smell of the land around them and the distinctive odor of his own kin, just to be sure he’s got the right one in front of him. After a few moments of this he’s pretty certain it’s him - Pteron - and the bristle tail attached to bony hips thumps quietly in the dirt.
@[Pteron]
what is left when honor is lost?
Pteron beams at the compliment.. His parents would be quite proud; the dun colt can almost picture his father smiling down at him as he welcomes the stranger into their home. As the eyeless coyote lowers his haunches to the ground, the young pegasus tilts his head curiously. How is he doing that? How are his legs bending in such a manner so that his tail can flick against the dust? Pteron frowns, breifly attempts a similar squat, and then returns to his former position.
He is grateful the blind stranger had not been able to see.
No – not a stranger. Wyrm. And odd sort of name, the pegasus thinks, and glances down at the earth at his hooves. Wyrm asks if Pteron is from around here, and more importantly, if he can help him.
“Yes!” He responds eagerly. “I can help you. I’m still kinda new here but I know where the diplomats are if you need one of them? Or some water, if you’re thirsty?” Pteron realizes that he isn’t quite sure what he can actually do if the stranger needs something he’s unable to provide. Well, maybe it’s something simple. Maybe the coyote is hungry. But then, what would a coyote eat? Rabbits? How could Pteron possibly catch a rabbit. Realizing that he’s becoming lost in his imagination, the young colt returns t the conversation with a quick shake of his head.
@[Wyrm]
“Diplomats!? Och no no nooo …” The grandfather coyote backpedals, shaking his wiry brown head from side to side. “Water though; a bit of wet on my tongue eh … that’ll do the trick.” He cackles softly, a sort of wheezy inhalation like heh, heh, heh. “If you know where it is then that’s all the help we need, yea? You can show me just as good as any diplomat could.” The coyote shrugs, lifting a hind paw to bat and scratch behind his comically large ears.
It was decided. Wyrm didn’t need anyone else muddying up this reunion or coming in to poke their nosey noses around. Pteron was a good boy, a very good boy and so far nearly clean of the bad blood that seemed to leak into the veins of Wyrm’s other descendants. Once upon a time Longclaw had been like that. And Wolfbane? Well, from what the old shapeshifter had witnessed, it seemed like almost too much of the ancestors got into that one.
“If it doesn’t bother you son, I’ll just grab some tail and let you lead. Been a hard journey without my peepers and I’d like to get there quick so as not to slow you down. If you catch my drift.” He barks softly, somewhere between a laugh and grunt. In the gleaming light of day, his manifold rows of yellowed teeth glint like gemstones. The scruffy predator pops up from his relaxed sit and trots carefully ‘round Pteron’s backside, satellite ears twisting and his nose shivering to help him navigate.
“I ain’t a biter but don’t go getting happy feet or anything, ‘kay?” Wyrm calls out, favoring the yearling and fully expecting him not to crush a paw underneath his heel. Just in case, though, Wyrm’s ready power flicks on and his forelegs fade like ink in water. He sinks a bit into the dry terrain but otherwise seems naturally whole. “Tell me a bit about yourself while we walk kiddo. You seem interesting enough. Where’s your Ma and Pa? Why’d you choose this big wide space to call home, hmm?”
The next minute he grabs hold of Pteron’s tail, (the parts he can reach) and there he remains, acting fully dependent on the strange but familiar horse.
@[Pteron]
what is left when honor is lost?
Pteron feels a quick burst of relief that he will be able to help the old coyote without having to find an adult. Pride too, that this is something he can do on his own, and he steps closer to the yellow-toothed creature. He flicks his tail toward him helpfully and says with a laugh: "Oh no of course not. Just don't pull too hard; I've been growing this for a long time!"
The blue haired colt misses the way that the coyote sinks into the earth, and even if he had he probably wouldn't have noticed anything amiss. His world is full of strange things, and a coyote that's a little heavier than he looks is no stranger than a coyote that he expects is truly a horse in disguise.
Wyrm tells him that he seems interesting, which pleases Pteron just as it is surely intended too. He smiles - though the coyote will not see it - and starts off toward the nearest spring. Were he flying it would take less than a minute, but the dun colt must pick his way through the scrubby growth of Loess, and chooses a trail with firmer footing for the sake of the dusty creature behind him.
As they make their way closer to the water, he is more than happy to fill the time with a chattering answer to Wyrm.
"They went away on a trip somewhere but I think they will be back soon. They're gonna bring my sister when they do and they're going to come back here, to Loess." Pteron is quite sure of this though he has never been told. "They were the King and Queen here but we lived in Brilliant Pampas to stay safe from the Plague. Now that I'm big enough I came here to wait for them."
@[Wyrm]
The dry heat of the season wafts up from the rocky grasslands around the traveling pair, sending a pleasant heat through Wyrm’s quiet, weathered paws as they wound along a beaten trail. He could feel the sensation of ground dirt underneath him, smooth and easy to navigate at a steady pace, along with the odor of Pteron’s stringy tail around his mouth. Their partnership had a comical sort of hint to it: ‘young pegasus leading old coyote by the tail’; but between the two a sort of easy companionship had struck up. Still, Wyrm couldn’t help feeling that itch of nervousness should someone else happen to stumble upon the two.
Loess wasn’t so quiet anymore. Not since Bane had disappeared and the plague taken over, leaving the area empty for the likes of dragons and such. It was curious enough that Pteron had decided to come back here, of all places, especially when Wyrm knew good and well he’d been whelped further south in the Pampas. They kept on pace and wound further inland, and the old trickster listened to answers he’d already learned.
Mom and Dad were gone on a trip, the pale white-and-blue boy said. Lepis and Wolfbane had told him that, of all things? Why would Wolfbane leave his firstborn behind with no direction and such a pointless excuse? Why not just take the son with him as well? Senseless, he thinks as they continue their walk. “You didn’t want to go with ‘em?” The shape-shifter has to ask, letting go of his hold briefly, “Are you so sure your pa will come back here?”
Heartfire had said she didn’t know where the striped ex-king had gone. That didn’t matter. Wyrm had sent his message with the blue roan mare and thought by coming here he might weasel a bit more information out of the feathered colt, but this … If it was true and Pteron was certain that Bane, Lepis, or both would come back to Loess, then he could go into hiding and wait like the boy.
But he had to be certain.
“If he ain’t King anymore he might go somewhere else.” The sly coyote suggests with a bony shrug. He skips ahead again and buries his nose into the tangle of Pteron’s growing tail, snapping his jaws around a fair chunk of hair to grab hold and follow silently.
@[Pteron]
what is left when honor is lost?
"They'll come find me," Pteron assures the coyote. "Even if we're gonna go somewhere else after, they'll come get me first." This he is doubly certain of, even more than the fact that Loess will be the first place they check. Mother had wanted him to stay in the Brilliant Pampas where he would be safe, but the bold young colt had made no secret of his intention. They'd find him here in Loess when they returned, and thus was borne his loyalty to the rugged kingdom.
Taking the ground way means taking the long way, but he is careful to lead the blind animal over the smoothest path. There are rocky shortcuts but Pteron takes the longer route, flicking his blue-rimmed ears back toward the dusty coyote from time to time to make sure he is still there.
When they reach the spring, Pteron pauses. He considers leading Wyrm directly into the water, but then decides that he'd rather not muddy the water. Instead he steps to the side but flicks his tail forward, and indication that Wyrm might continue onward.
"The drop off's a bit steep." he tells the older creature with a bit of warning in his voice. "Unless you're good at swimming I wouldn't go to deep. A lotta the water holes here are like that. If you want to swim the Crescent Lake is a good spot for that. The hot springs even keep it warm in the winter, or so I've heard."
@[Wyrm]
A hint of his father begins to peek through Pteron’s innocence. Stalking Bane always, Wyrm had come to know the boyish, charming attitude his grandson had taken from Longclaw, but had also been aware that a rugged determination and steadfast loyalty crept in. That would be Heartfire, he assumed silently. The old coyote had never belonged anywhere; the world was his stage.
He would remain in Loess then, like the boy who flicked his tail free and motioned towards the water ahead of them. Its crisp, sediment-rich waters had a slight tang of sulfur when he trotted forward to take a few laps from the surface, more so the smell than actual taste. No doubt it came from the hot springs which interwove themselves throughout the territory. “Oh, no need to worry over my safety.” The narrow little creature chuckled darkly, lifting his head.
“All alone in the big world, worried over a scavenger like myself.” He comments, turning his spry, eyeless head over one shoulder to eerily address Pteron. Water darkened his muzzle, dripping from his chin to wet the dust and grit underneath his clawed toes. The clicking that had originally drawn the young pegasus out to find him started up again, echoing from deep in Wyrm’s throat as he built a mental image of the yearling in his mind. It sounded unnatural, and it was. “Left to wait and wonder … when will Wolfbane return?” He murmured, easing slowly back around.
He could take the boy hostage. Hold him under tooth and claw just to be certain Bane would come for him.
“We have more in common than you think, Pteron.” Wyrm rumbled, forgetting his earlier accent in an instant. He slunk forward one step at a time. “There’s so much I could teach you …”
His fangs grew until they slid out from underneath his top lip. Quills sprouted up along his spine and stood at attention, waving and trembling every time he stepped nearer. The coyote was making as if to circle the young stallion. Fortuitously, the shape of his ears grew larger and thinner, just like a bats but fit for the size of a dog, and as he paused in preparation for a quick attack some faint, faraway rustling caught his attention and held him fast to the earth.
Wings. The kind meant for speed, not stealth. Someone was fast approaching and Wyrm had lost his opportunity to surprise-steal the boy. A raging snarl cut through the air, leaving the blind coyote to pin his ears and jerk back in frustration. Foiled by chance, he only had time to scurry back towards the safety of water, his quills and fearsome demeanor fading back into his body as he shifted mid-stride. He splashed into the quiet river and leapt without gauging distance, trusting the colt’s mention of a drop-off, and wriggled himself into the form of a minnow before dropping without much of a splash.
It didn’t matter. He could trail Pteron later; the weathered shifter had gotten what he came for.
@[Pteron]
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