[open] let our walls cave in; any

[lumos]

There had been a time in his life when the forest felt dangerous to him, a place of mazes and menace and ancient misery. He hadn’t seen the way the trees loomed above him, ancient and aching, bent with age. But he had felt their fingers in the feathers of his piebald wings, sharp and gnarled even with their covering of autumn leaves. Had felt the way they curled in the frost of his dark mane, the way they pried his forelock back from his eyes as if to show him what they were. See? They seemed to say, and he might’ve wondered if the trees were disappointed with what they found, such empty eyes swirling with the gray and silver of sightless frost. He might’ve told them to be patient, had he known.

It wasn’t until many seasons later that he had discovered the magic of the gift his mother had passed on to him, a way to see through eyes that weren’t his, and then many more after that before it became something that felt as easy as breathing. Felt his in a way his eyes had never been. It was a nuanced gift, though when he had first discovered it he had used it out of fear like a bludgeoning weapon, taking instead of sharing from a doe that had been racing from the same danger as he. With her eyes he had escaped, but with his resounding darkness she had not.

He knows better than to take now, knows the value of being gentle when he presses his mind to anothers. When he is gentle, they do not balk at him, not the rabbits or the russet deer, not the birds or the gray squirrels that scamper up into the trees. When he is gentle, they unlock his cage of darkness, of sameness, and show him what the world looks like for those who live in these ancient woods. It is most strange, he thinks, to open his eyes to the day and see himself standing quietly beneath the autumn wreathed branches, to see sunshine brushed across the feathers of his wings and the lines of his back, sparking in the frost across his eyelashes.

He tries not to see his eyes though, dislikes the way that soft swirl of gray and silver frost makes him look so empty.
He doesn’t feel empty.

Dusk finds him in his favorite place beneath the wide, reaching branches of an oak tree that is home to a family of decidedly nosy gray squirrels. They seldom hold still, but even as they bounce along the branches above him, disappearing in and out of the leaves, chittering and arguing, he catches flashes of life going on around them. A handful of brown sparrows like a constellation against a blue and sunset sky, a doe and her freckled fawn who each lift their heads, tails waving cloud-white at something further off. There is a prickle of awareness then, a realization as he notes the way the creatures around him have all noticed something, the way they melt into the shadows between the trees.

There is sudden darkness, and though it is by choice he is sure he will never shake that split second of eeriness he feels when the world becomes so abruptly small and dark again – the size of the space behind his irises, soft blue before the glittering frost hid them.

He turns, the dark and white of his wings resettling above his shoulders, his ears flicking beneath the tangles of his dark mane as he tries to decide if any of the sounds around him are out of place. His brow furrows, though the movement is as hidden as his sightless eyes are behind the curtain of black forelock as he drops his head lower. “Is someone there?” His voice is the sound of soft silver, of the frost that clings to the black and white of his sabino body, to the cobalt blue that runs like a vein through the seam of either color. “Or is it just the squirrels again.” But there is the hint of a smile in his voice, a lift to the corner of his white mouth because he is certain now that someone is here. Even as he thinks it, his mind reaches for the nearest pair of eyes from the tree above him.

LUMOS

[Starboard]

starboard

make it pretty, but train it to kill

As a foal, her mother had often warned her of all the things that lurked in the darkness. Monsters and magicians, things that would steal your soul and suck the marrow from your bones. Most foals would heed those warnings and stay far away from the taint of the shadows. But there was too much darkness in her own soul for her to fear it. She had listened to her mother and heard her words, but fear was replaced with curiosity and a longing to explore.

She didn't fear; she embraced.

Though a part of her nature was drawn to the water, the other half craved the closeness that the forest provided. Her serpent-like body was made for slipping through the thickets and weaving through the trunks of the trees easily and efficiently. Her footfalls were nearly silent, her breathing calm and measured; she was a predator above all else. The woodland creatures before her fled, causing a smirk to lift the corner of her pretty mouth. Their fear never failed to amuse her.

On she traveled, deeper than she had ever ventured before. All around her the wildlife either quieted or fled to the safety of their homes, all except a doe and her fawn. They winded a predator immediately, though their eyes couldn't see what their nose was screaming to them. She stared at them intently, her slit-pupiled gaze taking in their heightened heat signatures. Adrenaline was likely flooding their veins, preparing them for flight. If they fled, she would give chase.

Finally, the doe broke the silence with a sharp blow, her fawn immediately turning and fleeing. Starboard leapt forward too, but before she could pick a direction the forest darkness closed around her. It was all-consuming and almost tangible, and for the briefest of moments her bravery wavered. It was brief though, barely something she could even register. Coming to a halt, her thermal eyes came to her rescue. Squirrels in the tree tops, the deers shrinking frames, all normal. But it was the larger shape that drew her gaze. Hot, cold, and winged; that much she could see. The shape was vaguely equine, but that meant little and less around here. Finally, it spoke, and she determined it was actually a male. The smirk returned to her mouth as she stepped forward, closing the gap between them in that brazen way of hers. "Definitely not the squirrels." she purred through the shadows. "Might be a snake or two though..." she mused, tilting her head though she wasn't sure he could see it. "Starboard."

@lumos

[lumos]

He only has a moment to trace the strange shape of her before the wildlife around them are startled back into their dens and to the shadows that pool between the trees. He finds he cannot blame the small prey animals for their haste, because he is certain that what he saw in that heartbeat of a glimpse through the eyes of a crow on the branch above him, now gone amongst the leaves, was a swathe of skin and scale, impossibly smooth in this heavy dusk and as pale as bone. It is not often he finds himself frustrated with his lack of sight–there is after all a strange balance in the way he can hear each step she takes to close the distance between them, in the way he can smell rain in the curve of those watery wings above her shoulders, in the way he can nearly taste the forest on her skin–but it is hard to surrender the sight of her. Hard to forfeit the ethereal grace of, what he has decided, might be a beautiful predator.

“Hello Starboard.” He says, and there is a hint of a smile in his voice that betrays the mild amusement he feels at the distinct sound of her purred greeting. So a predator, but he is not prey yet. “You do sound much larger than any squirrel I have encountered in this forest to date. Though, that certainly wouldn’t be my most unusual find here.” He is silent for a moment, feeling in the trees around them to see if anyone has returned to spy on the horses below, but he comes up empty. “You sound much larger than a snake as well, though.” He is glad for his heightened senses as he shifts to face her, his clouded eyes half-hidden behind the dark of his forelock. “It would explain why the other animals didn’t stay to say hello,” and there is that sound again, the smile in his voice and in the lift at the corner of his mouth, “but not why I can hear the sound of your steps. I’ve never met a snake with legs, not small or large. And not one who speaks.”

He thinks he might be saying too much, but he blames it on the way the dark has enclosed around him like a fist. Even blind, he is used to seeing. It feels like an imbalance to be denied the expressions of her face when she can, presumably, see everything on his. He wonders if she is close enough to see the frost clinging to his skin, to his lashes, to the tendrils of dark mane woven into knots by the passing of time. He wonders, too, if she can see how the frost is gathered behind the lens of each eye, how it fills the space like fractiles of white and silver that spark in the growing dusk. It swallows the blue he’d had as a child, just as it had swallowed his sight.

A blink, a sigh,  and he shifts slightly in place so that the silvered pieces of his black forelock fall completely over his eyes. Let her notice instead the flecks of nearly iridescent blue that speckle his shoulder and run like a vein between the lines of black and white. “My name is Lumos.” He pauses for a moment, considering the woman before him with a curious flick of his ears and a mouth that flattens thoughtfully. “I have come to find that anyone I encounter this deep in the forest is either lost, or trying to lose themselves. Do you agree?”

LUMOS

[Starboard]

starboard

make it pretty, but train it to kill

Even here in the depths of the forest, she holds no fear. Not of the darkness or the shadows, nor the stallion in front of her. She is arrogant in a way only beautiful, deadly things can be. So sure of herself and the magics that simmer just beneath her beautiful ivory hide. But there is something about this stallion that assures her he means no harm and is not in any way a threat to her. There is no desire to harm her and in return, she has no desire to harm him. But she is curious of him.

"Do you make it a habit to meet all the woodland creatures? Boring things, if you ask me, but I suppose they have their place in the circle of life." she says with a shrug. It is easy for her to dismiss their lives, small and meek as they are. "Can you imagine what a squirrel would say, given the chance? Probably something nutty..." she giggles prettily, while aware that her joke is dismal but trying all the same. Jokes are not her forte, but he seems to be the type who would appreciate such a thing.

She watches him carefully as he continues to speak, noticing again that his heat signature is shades of blue and purple. He tastes cold too, like the first bite of fresh snow; sharp but soft. He is friendly enough, she decides, though she senses some reservation in him too. Maybe its in the way he hides behind the tangles of his forelock, or how he keeps his face carefully angled away from hers. Most horses find themselves lost in her beauty, but he seems strangely immune to it. But he is interesting all the same, and predators are prone to curiosity more than most.

"Its a pleasure, Lumos." she says, his name slipping through her wicked mouth like silk. She doesn't follow him and his angles away, instead cocking her head as that curiosity in her belly grows ever stronger. His question, spoken like a statement, gives her pause. She's never met many others, a fact she doesn't mind all that much. While she is certainly capable of interactions, solitude doesn't nag at her; she is fine with either. "I think that more than one thing can be true at once, Lumos. Three things, actually." she stills, her sharp blue eyes searching for his. "Sometimes, I think you can find yourself in here too, if you go deep enough."

@lumos