[private] Rodrik.

[Kagerus]

Out with the golden we sew, and the lower past that crawls.
Now, to the doorway you run, to the girl that's not lost.

The journey from Jungle to Meadow had been a harrowing one - considering the chaotic difference of temperature between the south and the north, she could only assume that her lithe legs had passed across many a legion of earth to bring her here. Gratifying, she thought to herself. I am strong.

The snowflakes tumbled across her delicate frame, and Kagerus meandered from secluded spot to secluded spot along the outskirts of the meadow. This was her third day here, now, and a fruitful conversation had yet to be yielded. The mare minded little, however; the length of the journey meant that a long stay in the nomad's land was required. Furthermore, she had left her father, Kavi, with the clear instructions only to come looking for her after a week's absence.

She chuckled at the memory, and her heart panged for want of her gentle, aging father. He could still be smelt on her bay-overo fur, alongside the desperate reek of the Amazons. The pair had lived in the Jungle for nearly two years, now, and the thick rain forest was certainly home - but as a young teenager, full of spirit and a symphonic chaos, Kagerus demanded freedom.

Kicking up her spry heels, the irrevocably good-looking two-year-old darted through an opening in the small glade. It wasn't that she was hiding, necessarily - but when the company that she sought did find her, the nutmeg-eyed girl would be grateful for privacy.

And so, nose to snow-stamped earth, she waited.

Kagerus

sweet nothing

“”

[Rodrik]

It hungers. The hunger is an obstinate version of the way a newborn craves for sustenance. While once the creature’s biology had made it capable to derive its energy and nutrients from a diet consisting of a variety of food sources, such as plants and berries. These have no longer been enough. It desires something more, something that beats with the very essence of life that is far beyond the physical nature of meaty flesh from another. The very soul of another is what it craves – the essence of life itself. The heathen is incapable of pushing away this desire, not when it has for so long been engrained into the biology, the epitome of darkness that flows through its very existence. It was always born to prey on the others, after all it is a predator. It follows It must survive; it must live. It will hunt. The meadow of Beqanna is a favorable hunting ground for the hellion, knowing that life comes and goes through here. It does not hide within the darkness, behind the shadows of the world. The monster reveals itself, unafraid. What is there to fear when you, the very image of darkness, itself are the devil? It is strung together by bones and muscles. Cartilage, ligaments and tendons are the only thing that hold the monster together. Rotted flesh hangs in strips and patches all over the body. There are few patches of the once bright chestnut coat scattered, but they are ragged and scuffed into one huge mess. As it moves forward, bones crack, rattling against one another. It sounds as if the body of the beast will break, but it will not. It eyes are hollowed and lifeless. It is only the hunger that fills the beast’s eyes with life. The scent of others, the very essence of their souls taunt it. The beast moves through the meadow; desperateness fills the creature’s nutmeg-colored eyes as it searches among the bodies. It is a very feast spread out for its choosing, as if Christmas could not have come any sooner. Yet, once glance sent his way by another will send them running for the hills. The devil is an abomination; every nightmare wrapped into one; a demon from hell. However, the very scent of something old, a memory from so long ago begins to rekindle into the creature’s mind. The cloudiness of hunger is forgotten just for a moment as nutmeg eyes search frantically for the source, the holder of the scent. It begins to gnaw at the devil though, the hunger beginning to fight, to overcome, demanding to be answered. A war that had once be won is now beginning to start anew – thoughts of an old life are slowly resurfacing. It is all vague, so very clouded in the monster’s mind. The devil fights though, frantic steps are taken in the direction of the scent. Its eyes become wide once it finds the young minimal overo bay mare. The scent is strong on her. She smells of old memories of home and family, memories that should not be remembered. The monster approaches her, half wanting to devour her soul to fill this dying hunger and to fill these missing pieces, unclear pictures, that are slowly coming together. It snorts in frustration as nature and humanity fight to control the body. “You,” it manages through a raspy voice, “You smell of home…and something else.” The devil takes a step forward, reaching its nose out to touch the mare.

Rodrik

angels banished from heaven have no choice but to become devils

character info: here | character reference: here | image © uribaani