And I will put enmity between you [Sam pony]

[Wyrm]

:WYRM:

Did he smile his work to see?

Did he who made the lamb make thee?

He can tell it happened some time early this morning. The body had yet to stiffen completely and the day wasn’t quite into the long stretches of the afternoon. How long had he been staring? Wyrm can’t be quite sure. The criss-cross of shadows over the forest floor had hidden the poor, dead hare until Wyrm nearly stepped on it but at the last moment, the texture of fur caught his one blue eye. At first, the stare had been curiosity and then it had melted into longing, and then (after Wyrm was sure more time than necessary had passed) it had become a stare of hunger. How long had it been since he’d tasted blood?

Too long. “Pity.” He mutters, finally breaking his eerie concentration to look about him into the corners of the undisturbed wood. He blinks softly, green ears darting backwards as the melody of a mockingbird hovers over the natural cadence of the Forest. In the distance, a twig snaps.

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[Quark]

Screaming like a siren, alive and burning brighter.

He had awoken on the top of a mountain, blinking open mismatched blue and yellow eyes to look out on a world utterly unfamiliar. To look down at a body utterly unfamiliar. Deep, rich blue edged in shining silver, broad and stocky with a ridiculous amount of hair. Silver feathering hiding huge hooves, silver mane draping down his neck and over his face in a riotous tangle of dreadlocks and stray threads of tinsel. It was clearly his, as he inhabited it. But for all the recognition it triggered in his mind, he could have been looking at it for the first time.

In fact, nothing felt right, nothing felt like his. The whole world felt wrong somehow. His body was at least malleable enough that he could play around with it, changing the features, molding himself like clay into whatever shape felt right. But no matter what he tried, be it equine or canine or draconian or ursine or any other shape he could think of, nothing felt his. Puzzled, and perhaps a bit unsettled, he let his body return to its original drafty shape.

It was only then that he realized his chest was heaving, his lungs struggling to pull in enough oxygen when the air was so thin. Perhaps that was why the mountainside was relatively uninhabited. With a shrug, he began to descend to the world below, slowing his pace to enjoy the view as the air became more breathable.

Until, that is, he crossed a threshold and his body shifted with a jolt and a screech. Into some cheery yellow and white splashed monstrosity, its lines a fraction sleeker, curvier, smoother - wait. Wait just one godforsaken minute. Female. The hell? He growled and tried to change back, but the power that had flowed so easily a moment before was suddenly gone. He tried to turn around and climb back up the damn mountain, but couldn’t. The way was somehow barred. Snarling, he stomped down rest of the bloody mountain.

Everything was wrong. Even his body was wrong, and it felt so fucking heavy now that he couldn’t make it move the way it was supposed to. Oh, it was fluid enough for something stuck in one shape (one female shape, really? Really? Really. Dammit.) But it didn’t...it didn’t flow like it should, or like it just had. Nothing was familiar, not even echoes of recognition. Like he’d just been dropped in a strange land, a clean slate, without a home or a source or a...oh for fuck’s sake, or a name. How the hell was he supposed to introduce himself, then, anyhow? Hello there, stranger. How nice to meet you. I’m…no one. He was no one. There was no name, no jumble of random sounds to attach to himself, not an inkling of anything as basic as identity.

Fucking brilliant.

So he wasn’t exactly in the greatest of moods when he stomped into some random, unfamiliar forest. Though his feet were at least rather satisfactory for stomping, there was that. Nice echoing thuds, the satisfying crunch of a twig or two unfortunate enough to get in his way. He got distracted from his stomping, though, by a stranger just as vibrant as he was - when his body had been cooperating and male, and also now that it was this stubborn, rebellious, gaudy yellow female shape he was extremely unimpressed with.

He gave the stranger a once-over, mismatched eyes raking the emerald green body a few inches shorter than his as it was now, and a hell of a lot less bulky. And with a more reasonable amount of hair growing from his mane and tail. And he grunted a greeting before meeting the stranger’s gaze. “Hey.” Well at least his voice wasn’t terrible and high-pitched and girly. It was low and rich and melodic, even with the one syllable he’d spoken. Thank god for that, at least.

He glanced down at the stranger’s feet and the dead hare lying there, just a little surprised by the hunger it evoked. This shape wasn’t a predatory thing. It ate...grass. Grass and green things, and really? Ugh, why? With a snort of dismay, he eyed the grass at his feet a little skeptically, then turned a wistful gaze back on the dead rabbit. “It’s almost cruel how delicious that looks, and how poorly equipped I am to do anything about it.”

((Ummm, it was at least shorter than I expected? And they'll get shorter. This was the first one since all the changes. It was bound to be a little on the crazy long side. <3))

I am the fire.

[Wyrm]

:WYRM:

Did he smile his work to see?

Did he who made the lamb make thee?

All at once Wyrm feels … outnumbered. Even though only one particularly garish animal strides through the woods, without his senses Wyrm can never be sure. It’s irritating, to say in the least. What he does know is that this spotted individual is clearly not afraid of much. The stranger’s eyes are bold, almost as bold as her tongue when it slips past her teeth to formally call out to him. His own mismatched eyes watch her face, darting away when word of the hare comes up between them. “It was always about the chase for me.” Wyrm comments offhandedly. He’s staring at the creature again so this time he physically moves his body, turning it in a short semi-circle so that he could face the mare.

“Made the meal indescribably better.” He tells her, lips twitching with the flash of a grin. His eyes narrow, one brow systematically rising as if poised for a question. “Where did you come from?” He asks, never one to disappoint.

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[Quark]

Screaming like a siren, alive and burning brighter.

Oh. Oh, the chase. He’d forgotten about the chase, along with so many other things it would seem. Just the word got his heart racing, his pupils dilating, bloodlust rising. And no outlet for it, no claws or fangs or membranous wings spread wide to catch the air, to carry him up up up so he could dive down and reach chasing speed, talons spreading wide and sinking into flesh, blood spurting and flowing free, light fading from doe brown eyes, fangs tearing into still-warm meat.

“Right you are,” he murmured, staring intently at prey far too small to fill a dragon’s belly. But large enough to satisfy a wolf at least for a little while, and giving chase as canine was just as satisfying. Deliciously so. Something about the exertion, the adrenaline, the risk, playing with fate even if the game had never been as dangerous for him as it was for other hunters. Snap a leg? Just patch it back up. Going a little too hungry? Reach out and sink otherworldly claws in and sever the tie between body and soul; even if it killed the fun, it still filled the belly. And some days that was all that mattered.

When the stranger asked where he’d come from, he shook his head and returned his gaze to the emerald green stallion instead of the hare. The ravenous hunger began to fade from his eyes at the distraction. With a grunt and a nod, he gestured over his shoulder the way he’d come. “Mountain.” Or so it would seem, at least. It was the only answer he had to give. “You?”

I am the fire.

[Wyrm]

:WYRM:

Did he smile his work to see?

Did he who made the lamb make thee?

The wolf. Symbol of his family. His birthright, in some ways. Before his father there’d been another “wolf” of the Chamber, a red-eyed demon horse from the way the stories were told. But no demon and no story could match the truth in the history that lay dormant in Lupei’s bloodline. His children (or those he chose to acknowledge) had always been at one with the wolf within them. Umqra, Himself, and rumors of a last child circulated right before the change had all been taught the way of the hunt by his father. To Lupei, his gift was more than a paltry trick - it had changed Beqanna.

“The very same place.” Wyrm tells her, eyes dancing away to look at the thick canopy overhead. Just beyond it, the mountains would be looming in the distance. “But I was here before the Mountain rose too.” He comments, voice never breaking, “Were you?” He finishes, gaze lowering once more to watch her.

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[Quark]

Screaming like a siren, alive and burning brighter.

I was here before the Mountain rose too.

So it was new, this Mountain where he’d awoken all too recently. He looked back again, studying the looming shape in his mind’s eye though he couldn’t see it through the trees. He looked, and he wondered. “I have no idea,” he admitted quietly, gaze distant and thoughtful. “All I remember is waking up there just now. Or remembered. But I’ve hunted, I know that much. I felt it in the heat of my blood when you spoke of the chase. I’ve spread my wings and soared, dove and snatched up prey and crushed the life from its chest with my talons. So I must have been something before I woke, at least.”

With effort, he returned his gaze to the stranger, body still aching for the freedom he’d had atop that strange peak. “Perhaps I was, then. Or perhaps I was somewhere else entirely. Nothing is familiar here, but that might not mean as much as I thought it did. Or is the Mountain all that’s new?”

I am the fire.

[Wyrm]

:WYRM:

Did he smile his work to see?

Did he who made the lamb make thee?

It was the not-knowing that had Wyrm’s brain ticking. He counts the facts inside his head while the stranger talks: She is female, she is spotted, she is unafraid and surprisingly at odds with herself. The thick mare says things like Blood and Snatched and most importantly, Prey. But what does it all mean? She’s a puzzle half-complete, with enough gaping holes and irregularities that it wouldn’t be far off from the truth if someone thought she was out of her mind. But Wyrm’s been out of his mind for a long time now so he sees what others probably could not.

“Does it matter?” Wyrm asks her, honestly interested to hear her reply. “If I told you ‘yes’ or ‘no’ I could be lying. And if you denied what I told you, then that would mean you would be lying about not knowing.” He offers, voice slackened by a monotone note. “Never ask a question of a stranger that you could figure out yourself.” The green stallion states, easing forward to move past her in an unhurried manner. “My name is Wyrm. Should I call you something specific?” He poses, head turning back to watch her.

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[Quark]

Screaming like a siren, alive and burning brighter.

He tilted his head at the stranger’s bizarre reply. “I don’t know if it matters. And your logic seems convoluted. Just because I asked a question doesn’t mean I would necessarily trust the answer, and there’s no obvious harm in asking. How else would I figure it out but to seek out the information I desire?” But it was unimportant enough that he shrugged one garish yellow shoulder and looked away, eyes fruitlessly searching out something familiar.

Ah hell. A name. That was a damn good question, and one he had no answer for. “Wyrm. It’s...interesting to meet you, at any rate. And I’m sure there are plenty of things you could call me, though at the moment I’d answer to none of them.” He trailed off, considering. Dragon was the shape that had felt closest to home, and the shape he could feel best when the stranger spoke of the chase. Still, it did not feel like a name. Or perhaps more accurately, it didn’t feel like an appropriate name to give himself after the stranger had just declared his own name to be Wyrm. Well and it didn’t quite have the right feel to it.

Ah, but there was one other thing he remembered. Fire. Not in the air, but in his blood, in his bones, in his chest. “Pyre.” He paused, considering. Nodded once, accepting the word as his own. And then met Wyrm’s mismatched eyes and spoke again, this time to him. “Call me Pyre, I suppose.”

I am the fire.

[Wyrm]

:WYRM:

Did he smile his work to see?

Did he who made the lamb make thee?

“My logic is always convoluted.” Wyrm laughs, knowing full and well then that the stranger was of little concern. There was nothing sinister (as of yet) dwelling beneath that yellow-splashed-white skin. “You should never take anything I say very close to heart.” He warns, giving her the same grace he always extended to those who didn’t know him. It was only fair, after all, for them to be aware of what type of animal they were engaging with.

“Well Pyre, let’s see.” Wyrm hums, turning to his left so that he could make a short semi-circle around her. “In this place anything beyond the shades of brown and black means that you’ve got a touch of magic in you. And from the looks of it, you’re very touched.” He tells her, chuckling softly at his own joke. He usually wasn’t one to quip, but the habits of his sire were hard to break once they were passed down. “Just like me.” He finishes, letting a sharp grin remain.

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ooc: trying out a softer color for the text, let me know if it's less garish on your screen

[Quark]

Screaming like a siren, alive and burning brighter.

“Duly noted.” Pyre looked Wyrm over once again, a slow trailing of his gaze from head to toe and back again. “I’ll keep your words well away from my chest then, tuck them into the back of my mind instead.” Or one of the vast, empty spaces that echoed far too loudly, just enough to remind him that something wasn’t right. As if he could forget, when it’s one of the only things available to him to remember.

The emerald stallion hummed a bit as he circled around Pyre, and the sound was oddly familiar. Not quite soothing exactly, but familiar. He made a mental note to try it out later, though Wyrm had made it quite clear he should keep odd little not-quite-revelations to himself. Maybe not quite a hum? Hmm.

Regardless, there were more relevant things to focus on at the moment. “You could say that,” he muttered with a self-deprecating little snort. He sure as hell felt more than a little touched, and in all the wrong ways. “And what kind of touched are you, then? Or is that just another thing you’d maybe, maybe not lie about?”

I am the fire.