— I'm not here looking for absolution —
There is little that capture’s Staves interests outside of the workings of his own mind.
Little for him to entertain himself with except the possessive way that he watches his twin sister and the way that he dreams of things that he can barely name. His first year fast approaches and with it, his body has begun to develop. His mane no longer sticks up entirely, but has begun to lay down flat; still, this and his tail are short, underdeveloped, and have yet to lengthen into anything resembling an adult mane.
The lines of his body are still painfully young, his hip slightly too high, his legs too long, and although he will mature into something tall, lean—right now, he is just skinny. Just gangly.
Such things do not bother him though.
Such things do not restrain him.
And it is only when he sees the mare move out of the corner of his eye that he escapes the trappings of his own thoughts at all. His dark face grows pensive, black eyes peering out to watch as she moves to the water. She looks perfectly ordinary, but she moves with an otherworldly grace—something that speaks to ancient tombs and he does not deny the fact that his pulse increases, jumping in his throat.
But it is nothing to the excitement that claims him when the shadows seep into the water.
His heart thumps in response to the display, eyes widening slightly, and he does the only thing that he knows how. His own gifts—clumsy and raw as they are—dig deep into the earth below him. They root through the soil and the loam until they come upon the corpse of a bird, barely dead. He smiles as he pulls on it, animating it, giving it more than just movement, but a sick and twisted depiction of life.
When it bursts from the earth, screeching, he sends it to her.
Where it will land on the ridge of her neck, or circle her head, or drop dead at her feet should she wish it.
Consider it a gift, he thinks, his lips barely quirking into a smile.
