In the darkness of Beqanna’s nights there are only slivers of moonlight, silver streaks that briefly illuminate the edges of leaves and of the perilous drops of rock and limestone. The fireflies pulse and dance, glow and float amidst the cricket songs and screams of the nightjars and owls; but more so alarming is the chill in the air and the frost that begins to form on the underside of clovers and petals. Deer lay in their bedding and birds fly elsewhere, southerly things that despise the winter, and the animals that prowl ruffle the flora with their slinking steps and predatory forms.
Though some hooves can be heard amidst the compact and hardening soil, there is something else that dominates the air: that echoes through the black shadows. Bark is sheared from trees and a heavy thud fills the air with the clattering cacophony of wood splintering and breaking. In a singular beam of moonlight, a shape comes to life and with it: the darting body of something strange.
In the blackness she moves, the raptor-like talons digging into bark and toes bending to pinch the wood so hard that the small, otherwise equine figure leaps from surface to surface with a flexibility and strangely unnatural series of movements. Pale red and slightly gray she is solid outside of bizarre primitive marks near where the leather talons have formed, and her mane and tail are still fluffy.
Stained by blood, but, drier and without the gore- she traverses the woods and treeline: leaps and plays in the night, and for a moment when her body seems as if it might impact a branch: she becomes nothing and intangible, phasing through it as if the thing were not there.
Myrkari is still then, puffing her chest as she catches her breath and remaining so that she cling to the branches of a willow. Rumbling and hungry she looks about, studying and considering; but finding little entertaining or enticing in any fashion.
This continues until she sees the clearing ahead, sees the wide grounds and the tall grass. With curiosity she clatters and leaps, climbs up and balances on the branches- looking down with some purpose. Starlight and the cloudless sky make her more visible now than ever, and she remains perched: waiting for something.
you have to become equal in every way
peregrine jude she born :3c