I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife
It is the anguished cry that draws me.
The culmination of aching, lashing loss, it seeks the grudging comfort of the air surrounding. My ears twitch with the sound; it wakens something in me. I blink - once, twice, perhaps three times (I am suddenly aware of this motion, having once prolonged the time from one to the other, finding the resulting sensation displeasing). The unearthly keen fades into the cool winter's air and I draw my gaze to its point of origin. Shaking the snow from my coat, one hoof in front of the other - there was a time that it did not matter, that I would have simply appeared beside her ...
My nostrils flare wide, natural senses sharpened by the loss of those which I've depended on since birth. Three scents, all strangers to me. Another lingers, further than the others. I shift so that I am downwind of them, careful thought given to every step, but now they are moving away. I am sure that they've not yet detected me and so I trail quietly behind their grotesque parade.
They ask her for help - or is it she that asks for help? I ache to slip into the girl's body, her short and shriveled limb beckoning, begging me to slip into her skin. My throat is dry; parched. I sniff, muzzle pinched, attention shifting to the black mare. Have we met before? I smile, slowly, the gesture odd, uncomfortable on my mouth but there nonetheless. "That was you," I state simply. I study her for signs of anguish, hiding the eagerness from the lines of my own face. There is some there, perhaps not as much as I like, and my lips and ears twist in consternation. I mull over the notes of the cry, poking, prodding, vibrant brown eyes meeting dulled, anguished ones. "Is there life beyond it?" I eye the elegance of her throat openly, wonderingly.
Niklas
Hybrid, Black, Set x Anaxarete, Demon