"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
His visit to the common lands had eased some of the loneliness but Oceane’s absence had not gone unnoticed when he had swung by Loess on his way back “home”. He had found the children, wild and free as ever, making them a firm promise to bring them to Sylva soon for a visit. Of his twilight love there had been no sign but it had been clear from the others that she was wrapped up in kingdom affairs. For a moment his anxiety rises in his chest as he looks at his two children, the thought of them being unwatched bringing a thousand “what-ifs” to his mind. Eventually he soothes himself with the thought that Loess is well protected by the likes of Tarian and Cheri. Besides, he’s still not sure he trusts the quietness of Sylva. Not yet.
He spends the rest of his trip from Loess to the autumn land lost in thought. The Loessian Queen’s first duty was to the South, he had never doubted that nor wished to change it. Yet he can’t help but be bothered by her growing absence and leaving the twins behind feels like a stab to the heart. There hadn’t even been a chance to catch up with Cheri, if only for peace of mind regarding his iridescent Queen, knowing he had been away from Sylva for too long. Soon enough he finds himself among the familiar gnarled woods and follows the dried up riverbed through the eerily silent forest, admiring the fiery colors and catching the song of robins that break through the thick quiet.
It’s not until he is hock deep in a patch of wild strawberries that he finally comes to a halt with a frustrated sigh. The lonely days and nights, the constant gnawing ache in his chest that comes with missing his family, and the irritation of leading a land that seems to be hiding from him all seem to combust together as his temper flares and sharp bear teeth pop through his gums, replacing the herbivore ones he usually wore. “I know someone’s there.” He snaps into the growing darkness that begins to settle over the woods. “I’m not interested in your hide and seek games.” He grimaces slightly as he glances behind him, waiting to see if what lurked in this forest wanted to finally show itself today.
He's looking too low. It makes sense that he would be looking for someone on his level, but Manikin is higher up, sprawled languidly across the wide branch of an ancient tree with all the easy, predatory indolence of a leopard. She has not always been the best climber but something has changed in her since she came to Sylva, something that made her faster, stronger, made her more. She has decided to give the credit to Carnage, because the other option is to assume the Fae granted her these gifts and she is certain they would not, nor would she want their boon. Now, when she wishes to climb a tree, it hardly matters that her hind legs are hooved because her forelegs are more than strong enough to make up their arboreal lack.
Bright yellow eyes follow the golden chestnut and they do not miss the curving canines that flash beneath his lips when he cries out at the shadows. He's so angry. Sylva's people have been avoiding him since their magician burned away in a frenzy of her own madness. Avoiding him since his Queen sent him here so far from his family to secure her interests. The chimera wonders if the thing lurking under his skin would be enough to contain the Woods if they rose against him, can it kill the Hippogryph and the Wendigo and the Illusionist? Can it kill the Demon and the Dead Man? Could he kill her? Her smile is cruel. The feral girl that met death a dozen times, that met the dark god, that met and swallowed and birthed a thousand monsters to usher in the Eclipse, is now a woman grown, chimerical, mercurial. She is not afraid to die again.
The feathers along her neck rise and fall, trembling faintly with the thrill of that idea, the memories of the wicked, wild pleasure in that reeling darkness, in the breaking of bones and the splitting of sweat-slick skin. It fills the soft growl of her voice and she makes no effort to hide the intoxicated rasp of wanting.
"If I were playing games with you, you'd never know it."
Ledger had been broken and remade by the Dark God himself over and over again. Every brand that glows faintly in the dimness had been placed carefully by Carnage himself and most of his scars had been wrought and carved by the Dark God’s own magic. He had been cursed and gifted, had watched his life play out a story of only tragedy while remembering another life that had never truly happened (but the pain of a life worth living still burned somewhere in that dark hole inside of him) until a twilight mare saw something in him that he could not see himself. There had been plenty of days before that when he had begged for death, when he had grown mad with injustice and pain and grief, and if she had found him back then he might have taken anything she had to offer.
Now, though, was a different story. The voice that falls from the rafters of the trees finally turns his head in the right direction. His good eye lands on the strangeness of her figure as his snowy forelock falls away, revealing the claw marks and thin gray papery skin that spreads over the hollowed socket where an eye had once been before it was plucked by a massive white bear. The same bear that waits just under his skin, whose fangs protrude from beneath his upper lip as he stares up at the creature, considering her. “I don’t doubt that.” He finally says quietly, his temper easing back now that someone had finally shown themselves.
He had never doubted what lurked in these woods. There was something about Sylva that had seemed to beckon living nightmares for centuries. He has never seen anything like her before but the predator in him rumbles in his chest as his gold-flecked gaze flicks from talons to paws to feathers. All the questions she asks herself (about the wendigo and the illusionist, the demon and the dead man) are questions he has already asked himself. No, he doesn’t think he’s a match for any of those things let alone all of them together. However, the bear had a strong will to live and he doubts he would be the only one missing an eye by the time he finally fell to their bloody whimsy.
Hopefully it wouldn't come to that.
”And the others?” He finally asks her, his wary gaze still turned up to her even as his ears twist back in case anyone planned on sneaking up on him while he was distracted.
One-eyed, he takes her in, and the growl in his chest only elicits an answering purr in her own. She would not like to lose an eye, but even with just one, her sight would still be better than most, and that is a comfort. Still, to be blind to an entire half of the world would be an irritating and obvious weakness. She imagines he is hyper-aware of his blind side, and that he is probably exhausted by it, travelling the monster-filled woodland, knowing himself at such a disadvantage. No wonder the fanged thing under his skin is so on edge at the sight of her.
It should be. She is every inch a predator, and perhaps a match even for the bear, but today she is not looking for a brawl, resting her cheek on her paws and fixing him with that pointed raptorial gaze. The seasons do not come to Sylva and perhaps as the evening deepens further and the coolness settles in her bones again she will return to her hunting, but now, in this golden, glittering breath of time before night swallows them, she is too full of the sun, indifferent, indolent, and waiting for something more before committing to coming down from her Cheshire perch.
"The others?" The purring plucks softly at her husky voice, "Yes, some will want you to know that they are playing with you. They are crueler than I am."
The ragged wisps of her cropped tail flick idly, punctuating the thought. She has not quite decided what to do about this man who wants to control Sylva. He is not the sort that she is likely to respect, but Manikin is an accomplished liar, and when she cannot lie, she can change their minds enough that it does not matter, so she decides to take her time. Not everything will come to her as quickly and as easily as did her brother, she needs to remember that. Avocet's desire for love and his surety that he deserved it had set him up to fall a long time before Carnage had granted her those memory-twisting powers.
She lets a playful paw drop from the branch and bats careless, clawless, at his golden ears where they hide in the tumult of his pale mane, and with it, a sense of peace fills their sylvan copse as crickets begin to tune their wings and fireflies flicker their first light into the shadows. Her newest magic settles on him gently, tentatively, a single hook for his beating heart (and she has no idea how lucky she is that his mate so recently wished away the glass that was there before!) Perhaps, she thinks, grinning that strange beak-edged grin at his justifiable wariness, you will learn to think more kindly of me than you do now.
"What shall I call you? The Paladin?" It is dark now even on her branch, and she sits up with a fluid stretch, eyeing the meadow below for a landing, "Yes, I like that. My Paladin. And you must call me your Hippogryph."
She plays the game of a cheshire cat, holding her cheek with a clawed paw as she gazes down at him, completely unperturbed. He had spent too much time in the clutches of dark god’s, murderers, and thieves to lower his guard with the likes of her. Not with that predator gaze, not in woods like these with the legends they hold. She acknowledges that there are others (he had always suspected as much) still lurking in the dark and when she speaks of cruelty, he frowns.
It had been one thing to claim Sylva to keep it under the South’s diligent thumb. But bringing the twins here, making this Oceane’s “retirement” home? He was still leery of Sylva and this interaction seemed to only confirm everything he had felt about this place. This land wasn’t safe and might never be, how could they ever be certain that something wouldn’t come in the dead of night and harm them?
It is strange then how he is suddenly feeling quite content when she lowers a paw and bats at his swiveled ears, ever the image of a playful (terrifying) kitten. He can’t help the low chuckle that escapes him as he easily dodges her attempts, looking back up at her with a rather thoughtful expression. As the crickets begin to sing and small dots of light appear around them, he wonders if maybe she wasn’t as bad as she seemed. Perhaps he had judged this book by her cover far too harshly.
Still the bear within him is wary and stirs restlessly beneath his reddish gold skin, refusing to retract the fangs peeking from beneath his lip. He heeds the beast, agrees that he does not trust this creature. Not yet. But he is willing to give her a chance. After all she was right, she could have pounced on him long ago. If she hadn’t, maybe there was a reason why. She sits and stretches and his amusement grows as she speaks of what to call him. “I do have a name. Ledger. Ledger.. your Paladin.” He decides to play along, not seeing the harm in it for now. “And does my Hippogryph have a real name?” He casually banters back, taking a step back to give her room to land. A hippogryph… He’s not sure he’s ever heard of such a creature. Perhaps Oceane has though and he makes a note to ask her about it, whenever he finally gets to see her again.
The hippogryphs are not as common as dragons and this one would be hard-pressed to think of any others besides herself (which she does not mind at all.) She does not know her father to know how much they share between them - and she could not be blamed for assuming that the main of it comes from her mother instead, and the bright, electric bird humming under her dark skin. Manikin, though, is a very different sort of creature.
She leaps into the space he makes for her and sits just to his left, that soft purr still curling in her breast like distant thunder. The feathers softening the curves of her neck and shoulders fluff slightly and she buries her beak into her chest, preening under his curious gaze. Let him look and wonder. Every second that passes brings him a little more under the spell she weaves. How far can she take him?
Subtle, the little chimera reminds herself. Feathers well-sorted, she slicks them down again and tips her head to one side to return his gaze.
"Ledger," his name is barely a whisper on her tongue, tasting the shape of it as if claiming him as her own. She seems to consider his request for a moment, and then, coy, playful as when she batted at his ears, declines to give her own. "For now, no. It's not always wise to share information with strangers you meet in the night, you know."
The old Fae magic, the power of true names, it's lesser these days, but she invokes it as though it is as real and alive as it was once upon a time. Manikin has seen the Fairies before, but they seem to rarely trouble themselves with mortals who do not seek them out, so she does not much trouble herself with them. Instead, she gently tests the strength of the heartstrings she's hooked into the red flesh of his heart. She is impatient to understand the limits of this new magic warming her bones, but she is not quite like her father who bludgeons his victims with it until the fervor of the love that they bear for him leaves their eyes bloodshot and their hearts captive. No, if she wished to bludgeon him, she needn't bother with magic.
"Besides, nicknames are more fun, don't you think?" She asks, her voice full of that feathery hunger. The link seems secure enough for now and Manny smiles as best she can through the curve of her beak.
"But if you need me," she emphasizes, "I will know."
She stands up again. He has already made room for her once and she capitalizes on that precedent to step in closer to him than is polite, close enough to reach out, to touch, if either of them wished to.
There is a purr in the way she says his name and he watches the way her beak runs through soft gleaming feathers as she settles to his left, keeping in view of his good eye. The stallion feels like this is another show of good faith while the bear rattles his bones and reminds him how sly predators can be. Still, he doesn’t feel quite as on edge as he had been minutes ago and he snorts, amused, when she refuses to tell him who she is. “Are we still strangers Hippogryff?” He asks her with a small grin that falters slightly when her magic snags gently into his heart. An irregular beat that disappears as quickly as it comes and when he feels nothing else, it becomes forgotten.
“I can’t recall ever giving a stranger a nickname.” He says quietly, considering her and that tone of voice that the beast inside of him recognizes. “Usually they are reserved for friends.” He banters back easily, not noticing that his golden coat was starting to pale as the need to shift began to press against him. She stands and he becomes hyper aware of just how close she is to him, his breath shallow as the corner of his mouth pulls into something curious. “Why would I need you Hippogryff?” He asks her gently but that hook in his heart tugs again and he thinks perhaps it would be nice to have someone like her at his back if he should need it.
The molten flecks of his eye are suddenly distrustful with what she asks next. “No.” He says firmly. No, he was not a killer. Once, almost once, he had given in. A desperate attempt to remove the glass heart that had hung heavy in his chest. It was the ghosts in his head that had convinced him otherwise in the end. Although he hadn’t seen the images of madness in a long time, he can still hear Magnus’s voice in his head. "That is not who you are.” But there is that soft caress against his heart and he remembers Oceane giving him permission to hunt if he wanted to. And in these dark golden woods filled with terrible things… Would it hurt to allow the bear (so patient all these years) a chance to truly be itself?
“No.” He says again but this time he sounds uncertain.
She lets him waver in the paradox of her words - are they friends, or strangers? - studying the way the golden hairs pale and want to grow, something longer, thicker, something less smooth than the glossy horsehide stretched across his shoulder, and she wonders what he is hiding from her. Can she coax it out all the way? She comes closer while he questions her playfully, so close that when her feathers ripple their tips brush against him lightly, so close she can feel the way he stiffens at her final question.
No, he says, the word tripping over his tongue like an injured thing, and Manny turns her head just enough to catch his gaze in her own. There's a storm there, there's a yearning behind his denial. Deftly, she extends her neck and nips as gently at him as she might her own skin while preening. That deadly point drags softly across his withers, pulling back with a mouthful of long, pale hair fighting to be free of his self-righteous gold.
"You need me because I am not afraid of this," the hairs fall from her beak, catching the breeze like snowflakes dancing in the air and she watches them drift away, speaking her words into the ever-deepening darkness, "whatever this is that you are trying so hard to smother."
Does he know he's going to lose his grip on it eventually? He must, and it will have nothing to do with her meddling magic when he does. The blood will out.
"It will be so much worse to lose yourself to the Beast when your children are nearby," she whispers, still watching the darkness with keen eyes, "When you have so little control."
An easy thing to imagine. She can smell the faint scent of foals clinging to his skin, a tender, milky scent that still follows him though he has wisely kept them tucked away in another land. Silence falls between them to make room for the awful thing she suggests, that he might be a danger to his own family, to his friends, if he does not let loose the restive predator roaring against the bars of his equine bones in the company of someone more... robust.
"Besides, not everyone has the luxury of surviving on grass alone." Perhaps hunting is not something he must do, but it is something that she cannot avoid. Nor would she - nor did she even when it was an option. But he doesn't need to know that; he need only know that his own abstinence will not save a life tonight. Her yellow eyes gleam bright with the moonlight filtering through the branches above as she turns back to snatch up his gaze again with eager, hungry, eyes.
"Let it out and come with me tonight, Paladin. You'll find it hard to hurt me, even if you decide you want to."
