my shadow tilts its head at me,
spirits in the dark are waiting.
He doesn’t have to see her to know that she is there. He can feel her, feels the shadows that are her body, feel her move through the portals. Rhynn had been teaching him how to control this new skill of his. How to accept the shadows, and in accepting the shadows, accepting everything he had done to become what he is now. Noah lingers on the outskirts of his vision, and Rhonan has found that in his time alone, he now enjoys the peripheral presence of his dead friend.
Rhonan had been too late too save him. Too selfish to turn around before Noah had. To selfish to dive into the horde to try and stop it. Too late to save Gero from Azula. Too selfish not to vote away the others to be tortured. He was a monster, nothing more. And now the shadows obeyed him.
He no longer fell through the shadows, landing god only know where or on top of Fennick anymore. He could form them into most anything, solidify them, do as he wishes with the darkness in the world. And he could feel them. All around him he could feel the way they moved against the light, could feel them as other manipulated them.
Today, he is not purposefully in the field. He was passing by on the way to the meadow, where he spend enough of his time given his general apathy for working in a kingdom. Maybe he would one day. Maybe he’d just linger in the Valley till they kicked him out. But either way, he feels the mare. Not a horse playing with shadows, but shadows that create a horse.
And he cannot help but be drawn to her.
He wears darkness like a coat, covering his gold and white form. He’s always hated his coloring, so he pulls the darkness around him and makes it look like a part of him. Like he’s always been black, rather than gold. He finds her without much effort. Her eyes are bright, though he doesn’t need those to guide him either. He simply knows where she is. Because she is made of shadow, and he was given the ability to understand the darkness completely. Because there is nothing good or light or kind about him.
Not anymore.
“Rhonan,” he says, and then nothing more. The darkness around them seems to tighten slightly, like a blanket almost. Not a bad pressure, but loving. And he leaves it just like that.
rhonan.