I am capable of anything and everything, ANY

[Pevensie]

Summer is heavy in the Desert heat. She stands atop a dune, the blistering yellow orb cursing its ultraviolet down on her head, making her pant. She is alone up here, much as she is alone in the world. Pevensie might now be a Queen, but there can't be many horses in Beqanna lonelier than she, with fewer friends and allies. That thought has been taking its toll on her of late, so much so that she has been shirking her duties to her kingdom, only worsening the feeling of isolation rising up and constricting in her gut.

Beyond her is a vast emptiness, though peeling her eyes carefully she can make out the oasis in the distance. She sighs, glancing back up at the sun overhead and deciding that it's about time to move out it's glare before she has a stroke or something. Decision made, she wraps herself in her beloved sunlight, sprouting two elegant sparkling wings which blend seamlessly into her buckskin sides. A sun-light horn bursts atop her forehead, spiralling and glass-like in quality. Nobody would see the transformation though and anyone viewing from the distance would only see a dazzling flash of white light where once a horse had stood.

She shakes out her mane, spreading her wings wide and waiting for an updraught to catch her. For Pevensie, flight is effortless. It is the sunlight that carries her, not any wings like a normal winged horse of Beqanna, which require blood, sweat and tears to operate. So, by the time she lands, graceful as a swan, atop the surface of the oasis, she has not even broken a sweat. Her wings fold in by her sides, her aura sparkles around her form.

It is now she notices Cammie, and two strangers. She goes forward to investigate, adorned in her full sun-Queen dazzle. It's the first time Cammie has seen her use her powers. It's the first time in a long time Pevensie has bothered to use them herself. She barely notices them though as she approaches the gathering,

"New faces," Pevensie acknowledges with a bright smile aimed at Cammie, then looks between the stallion and the mare, warmth radiating from her gaze. She nods politely to the two of them, very pleased that despite her poor leadership, the kingdom has not ground to a halt. She snorts softly, continuing on with her introduction. "My name is Pevensie. I see you've already met Cam and Gumpy. How are you both finding Desert life so far?"

[Kingslay]

KINGSLAY

Of course he doesn’t belong.

He belongs nowhere. He belongs nowhere that isn’t suffocating for the sweet and sickly reek of death. He belongs nowhere, except for the spaces of their ribs, or woven through the layered flesh and muscle and yellowed fat of them. He isn’t trying to coax the alarms that sound in their minds. He isn’t trying to illicit the bumps that creep down the backs of their necks and along the ridges of their spines (if they do). He isn’t trying to look sinister when he tilts his head a little too far to the left and looks more feral than he ought too, more still than he ought too, more unnerving than he ought too.

Of course he doesn’t belong.

So, when she croons: ‘Make yourself at home, Kingslay’, and all he thinks about is how he could carve a home out of her hollowed carcass, of course.

He imagines them like bones. The second backs away, and he can taste the heat of her body and it thrills him in ways that it shouldn’t. He tastes her sweat before it ever hits the dirt; he breathes it in, feels it ignite flavors on his tongue he has almost forgotten – almost. For every step she moves backward, he moves one forward, propelled by the creature stirring in his gut, propelled by the famine that wracks his hungry bones. He could have her so easily. He could have her unwrapped, bones laid bare, flesh burnt clean, and it could be so easy.

She smiles, and he thinks about her insides.
She smiles, and he thinks about how easy it could be.

She smiles, and he says nothing, but if they listened closely enough, would they hear the clatter of teeth on ribs? Would they know what he is enduring for them to live these moments? Would they hear the rattle of salivating jaws and snapping teeth? Would they recognize the cacophonous ring of the drums of war?

Yes.

Yes, because he doesn’t belong.
Yes, because he doesn’t care for queens and politics – and why should he?

He is a god among them.
He is made of souls and fire and teeth and blood, and they are made of flesh and frailty.

He is a fire, and they are moths, and they come and they come and they come, and they burn their wings and he drinks the ash through his teeth.

Another comes, and his head tilts right. Pevensie. He tastes her name like he’ll taste her blood one day, slowly, as though he means to savor it even when reality makes a glutton out of him.

She smiles, and he thinks about the feathers in his teeth.
She smiles, and he thinks about the sound of bones snapping.

She smiles, and he says nothing, but his eyes will say everything. They are dark and bleak, endless and hungry, and if she looks closely, she might see what it would look like to have the feathers in her wings fall around her like snow painted red.

And so, he made the Gods themselves bend at the knee.

KINGSLAY BY NEVAEH | HTML BY MAAT | IMAGE © ILYA KISARADOV

[Camrynn]

so you wanna play with magic?

The stallion presses too close to Girr for Camrynn's comfort, and without thinking she moves herself between the two.

It is a quick movement, no more than a few steps but enough to put her body between theirs. She can feel what's in his mind (she could have pulled it out easily enough, but he's practically broadcasting it, practically screaming to sky with images that would no doubt make Pevensie and Girr turn cold. They are true lights, she thinks. And she's more along Kingslay's line, more comfortable with the dark.

She knows that they're too close for comfort when she first steps in front of him. Perhaps his momentum is carrying him too quickly, and he'll hit her. Perhaps he'll become angry, seeking her warm flesh with his lips. It won't make a difference to her: in this moment she is iron. His teeth will find no purchase, his body would hit hers as though hitting a wall. Perhaps he will try to burn her, perhaps the heat of closeness will enrage him. It doesn't matter, she will protect them – protect them all.

She stands her ground, leaving it to him to separate them or to press closer as he will. Pevensie joins them, and she sees his attention shift to her co-queen. His mind plays a nightmare, and she wonders where he'd come from. "Pevensie." she greets the mare affectionately, not an inch of concern in her voice. "This is Girr." she indicates the white mare "And George." indicating the ever present stick. "And this gentleman…" she uses the term with just the smallest hint of irony in her voice - "Is Kingslay. He's not much for words."

Not much for words, and, she wonders, how much for following orders. She could give him what he seeks, she knows – that, and so much more. But could he ever bring himself to work for someone else, to do the bidding of another even if that bidding was to sew chaos? She can't decide. And this isn't the time or the place anyway – that's a strictly extracurricular (and completely secret) activity.

She looks at the stallion for a moment and contemplates diving into his mind. He speaks so little and yet thinks so much; what makes him stay silent? What makes him wait to strike at them? What makes him hang about on the creepy fringe like that terrifying stalker, like the clown in a horror story, like the thing that goes bump in the night? Why not simply strike?

But instead she settles for something a little bit more tactful. Around them, the summer warmth starts to slowly fade. She brings an unnatural wind sweeping across the empty plains, sending their manes and tales whipping around them. It is a tempest that doesn't belong, accented by a strangely cloudless sky. Let him love the sweat, let him admire the heat – what will he do when she seeks to challenge it?

Perhaps he will seek to challenge it, to burn the air she tries to cool. Which one of them would win in a battle of the elements? Clearly she, who can call on so much more than just summer. But it would be an interesting competition.

CAMRYNN

co-queen of the deserts, magical, mother of badassery