i fell in love with a girl from the city; any

[Zed]

When is a monster not a monster? Oh, when you love it. Oh, when you used to sing it to sleep.
Here are your upturned hands.  Give them to him and watch how he prays like he is learning his first words.

He had been raised to be a sweet boy, to forgive when he was slighted and to always find joy when all felt lost. Kerrigan strived to impress upon him all the positive things that gave her life a sense of meaning. Her efforts had not been lost on him as he grew into a smiling boy who followed her ways of softness and laughter until the day he discovered he was not quite like his mother. She had whispered to the snakes of the jungle and tried so hard to show him they were not to be feared, but he found himself unnerved by them all the same. One day, he found himself forcing a serpent to stop breathing. Zed wasn't sure how he had done it, but the scaled thing obeyed and eventually fell from its branch as its organs began to shut down.

Kerrigan had given him a nervous glance before hurrying him away from the dead thing. Eventually he found himself giving his mother muscle spasms without her notice. It was his tiny practice until his strength grew, he supposed. But power corrupts and his stole away all that kindness that had been imparted upon him. As he reached adulthood, he found himself commanding his mother to hunt and destroy despite the tears that ran down her cheeks, despite the horror in her eyes or the tremble in her face.

He had left in the dead of night once she had collapsed in exhaustion. His freckled legs carried him back to Beqanna's borders and he felt a grin spread across his lips as he slipped into the meadow like the arms of a long lost lover. The tall grasses spread aside and tickled against him in familiarity as he continued onward. Zed's face, still an inky black in his lingering youth, lifts to examine those around him. He could feel a few harmless garter snakes nearby but he felt no interest in them for the time being. (Perhaps later? His grin momentarily twitches wider.)

Instead, he shifted his weight and let his eyes drift to the horizon where the sun began to peek over the horizon. A new day and a new host of things to discover.

Z E D

Start by pulling him out of another fire, and putting him back together with the pieces you find on the floor.
There is so much to forgive, but you do not know how to forget. When is a monster not a monster?

[Rhonan]

It is terribly early. He hates this time of day, would far rather be asleep somewhere beneath the dark trees of the Jungle. He could sleep all day there if it weren’t for the damn heat, but it stayed plenty dark enough. But he’s learned that this is also the best time of day to sneak out. His brother makes it harder, because his brother gets pissed that Rhonan can sneak out and he can’t. It’s not Rhonan’s fault that Tytos isn’t clever enough to figure out how to get past Mom and her damn plants.

So that’s why he’s in the meadow at the ass crack of dawn. His mother and brother are asleep, and Nayl doesn’t seem to care what Rhonan does. He’s the useless child anyway. Tytos and Nayl are closer. Perhaps his family has high hopes for his brother, who holds himself like a prince (though he’s not). Rhonan is the badly behaved, crawling out of the windows, going to flunk out of school kid. He really doesn’t care what they think.

There’s another boy, probably not all that different in age from Rhonan (though Rhonan is not the world’s best judge of ages), standing in the meadow. It’s not that quiet here, honestly, even for the ass crack of dawn. Guess everyone is running from ghosts and nightmares. Rhonan’s just running from his mother. Normal, teenage things. Right? Sure. He makes his way over to the other colt, feeling (like always) like a damn pretty pretty princess. His gold and white coat is dirty, because he refuses to keep it clean, but still the colors catch in the creeping sun. Why couldn’t he be bay, like Tytos? Or black, like his dad and this colt?

Oh well.

“Rhonan,” he offers, and then just comes to stop by the boy. He doesn’t really have much to say, and he’s never been much of a talker. But this is the meadow, and so he doesn’t think much that the other is hunting for personal space either. And if he is, again, oh well.

rhonan.