welcome to my dark side. [open]

[Salomea]

I have never been on my own before. Set and Niklas have always been there. I do not remember my mother; only dark secrets, whispers, blood and rot. Only Set and the infuriating black devil. I struggle with the frayed ends of my sense of self. When I finally shift my attention back to Magnus, I steady myself in his gold-flecked gaze, nostrils flaring wide and then lesser so, my heart no longer thrumming with ire and despair. The clouds overhead part further, starlight adding it’s dull glow to the moon-illuminated clearing. My eyes, a pale grey made even paler by the moonlight, flick to the drying sweat on his neck and I am momentarily distracted, mulling over its implications. I cannot even remember the last time that I talked to someone other than Set and Niklas. Most strangers gave us a wide berth. The others quickly learned their mistake. Beqanna was different.   I jerk imperceptibly when he starts in again, the smooth rasp of his voice drawing me back in. His observation, and subsequent question, draws a bark of genuine laughter from my throat. Our nighttime arrival was, just like everything else, not a decision I had been privy to before it was made. "Not many are willing to come to the damsel’s rescue when she’s being held captive by a magician and his demon," I reply, forgetting my initial air of hostility toward him with the capriciousness of a child. My brow furrows. “But something tells me you know a bit about demons,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper, “ … and damsels," I finish with a wide grin, almost goofy on the otherwise elegant lines of my face.   I do not answer his question right away, instead turning my focus to the white mare, nearly glowing in the pallid night. Accustomed to blunt honesty, my nose twitches at her observation. Lack in sleep, indeed. Niklas made it nearly impossible to sleep. If he was not pranking me with his shadow creatures, his hellhound was haunting my every dream. I like to think that after helping to raise me that my uncle holds me in some semblance of esteem – after all, I am still alive– but he feeds off pain and fear and, for a long time, it has been just us. A sheep amongst wolves. Except, I refused to be a sheep.   My amusement crumbles to ashes in my mouth, caustic and dry. Did I want to be helped? I eye this quiet stranger warily, nostrils wrinkled, lips drawn tight. Flashback to the moment the water had closed in over my head, filling lungs desperate for air. Well not anymore! I want to snap, but I hold my tongue, unwilling to make an enemy so early on, with little knowledge of how this world works. Clearing my throat and not-so-nice thoughts, I glance furtively from one to the other. “Do either of you know how all of this works?” I ask, throwing my chin out to indicate the whole of Beqanna. “I mean,” I start again quickly, “I understand there are kingdoms and other horses like me … but how does one go about finding a place to call … home?” A thrill runs through me at the thought.