Anastasia’s laugh sounds like smoke. It is night, and the Field is laid open before her like a banquet. Her yellow eyes peer out from her hiding spot, and her lips curl into her personal version of a smile—the result akin to a wolf looking upon a meal. To Anastasia, the world is not the same as it is to others. She is a predator who does not hunger. Her teeth can shred through flesh; her touch can eat through metal like acid. When she moves from the trees, she leaves no scent and her motions do nothing to disturb the silence of the night.
She is a hunter who has been designed by the heavens to perfect the hunt.
And, yet, Anastasia does not stalk prey; she does not feast upon the weak.
Yet.
For most of her life, the shadow-mare had been hidden away by her father in the craggy mountains of the Chamber. The panther-stallion had raised her in the pine forests. He had spent more time with her than perhaps any of his other children—grooming her to fight like a soldier, rebel like an anarchist, and listen to no one (not even him). Atrox had showed her to wield her gifts with balance and control so that she no longer dissolved through trees when resting or ate away at the ground when not paying attention. Even her ability to travel through shadow portals had largely become easy; she no longer appeared standing in the middle of foreign kingdoms, sinking in the sea, or covered in mud.
Which brings us to her current situation. Her father’s farewell had not been an emotional one, but he had never been overly affectionate with her. Intrigued by her gifts, yes—but not by her. He had simply told her that it was time to leave and so she had. Anastasia would miss the smell of pine on the air, the fog winding in the trees, but she knew she had to give herself options. She had see what else was out there. Camouflaged in the true darkness of midnight, it was the first time that she truly felt on her own. The freedom was intoxicating.
Slipping from her spot, Anastasia steps through a shadow portal to appear on the other side of the area and then jumps through another one back to the mouth of the field. She stretches languidly, feeling powerful, eyes bright and smile as dark and dangerous as a shark. Reaching back, she scratches as her side for a moment before she looks out into the mostly empty area. What could possibly await for her in the witching hour?
like the moon, we borrow our light
{I am nothing but a shadow in the night}