The colt moves beneath darkness like it is part of him - there is no hesitation in his steps, no uncertainty as he walks almost gracefully through a mix of bramble and rock. He follows the gentle curve and twist of the river’s path, drawn to the hushed bubbling of the water over smoothed pebbles and the growing fog that begins to surround him. The lazy mist hangs loosely over this particular calm twist in the large, winding river. It clings to the trees and rocks, as well as his teal and gold body, dipping into the curved lines of his youthful shoulders and flanks.
The fog kisses him and envelops him like a cloak, welcoming him. The pines in the wood just behind him are dark and tall, stretching like silent giants into the black sky. He stops here - where the darkness of night and the dense mist are thickest - and dips his slender forelegs into the babble of the river’s water. A mere child, at home beneath the shadow and unafraid as the night becomes darker, stares into the water that swirls expectantly around his golden ankles, hushed whispers calling him into the deep.
The boy snorts sharply, his gold-tipped ears flipping behind him, deep teal lids narrowing around the soft lavender of his irises. His tongue - thin and forked, like a viper - slithers from his golden mouth, tasting the air. He isn’t alone.
He turns over his shoulder, ruffling the tri-colored wings on his back absentmindedly.
“You can come out,” he murmurs into the shadow of the treeline behind him, his face expressionless as he stares into what appears to be nothing - but he knows it is anything but. I’m not afraid, he murmurs, almost coos, into their mind like venom - whoever it is that lingers in the darkness, or whoever accidentally stumbled across him. He turns back to the water, studying it closely as his head lowers towards it, his forked tongue gently touching it as if it was as delicate as a flower. He lifts his head, tilting it slightly as if contemplating something, before reaching out to their mind once again, this time a thin veil of fear coming from him like icy fingertips, attempting to help him place the stranger within the darkness. It’s so tiny, so minuscule; like the hair on your neck suddenly standing on end, or an unexplained shiver down your spine.
But enough for him to gauge their presence.
Thoughts are delicious and that is what he is seeking; he wonders if they can feel them prying into their consciousness, feasting on their innermost desires and fears, each one more tantalizing than the last. He wants to make all their dreams come true, each and every one of them - though, perhaps, they would not enjoy the way he would do so.
There isn’t enough here - not yet - from this stranger, which is why Molech invites them in, a young and feeble colt merely lost while wandering the river’s path.
“I do not like to be alone,” his slithering voice confesses, lifting his gaze over his shoulder once again to encourage them further, something like sadness in his brilliantly shining eyes - he does try to be truthful.
molech.
@[savage]