04-09-2015, 03:18 PM
It is one thing to be the metaphorical wolf among sheep, it’s entirely another to actually be a wolf. The world is different, the smells are so much more intense – his eyes and ears are suddenly so acute that it almost always physically hurts. It takes a few minutes for him to adjust, but he does, and then he proceeds to prowl the edges of the field with the confidence of an animal with an entire pack behind him. There isn’t, of course, but the other horses certainly don’t know that. Where there is one wolf, there are usually four or more behind him – so they balk, some gather their children close, others stomp their hooves and gnash their teeth. He regards them the way one might regard an ant, snorts, then continues on about his business. If he wanted to, he could run through the lot of them – so long as there wasn’t a magician amongst them, of course – and lay waste to the entire field.
Not that most magicians would care enough to stop him.
None of them would, he wagers.
Except his stepmother.
Yael was and probably still is a beacon of hope.
Utterly pure and riddled with good morals, she would never stand for such a thing.
Tarnished sighs, his front right paw turning into a hoof seconds before he takes another step. His fur turns to hair, then begins to shorten; his muzzle thickens, his nostrils split open while his wolf-nose disappears. His ears slide back into the correct position and his face grows longer. The switch from wolf to Percheron Hybrid is smooth, quicker than it used to be, but he supposes he’s had plenty of practice over the last nine years. Quark did right by him when she put him through training. Drow, even better.
Tarnished wonders how they’re doing, if they’re still alive.
It’s been so long.
Luckily, something catches his golden eye and distracts him. There’s a group gathering around a mare; she’s tall, probably not as tall as himself, but he isn’t exactly an expert and definitely not at this distance. Black. Probably comes from the same stock as his family, but she isn’t nearly as thick. Definitely not a daughter of Vanquish. Scars? Oh, yes. Lots of those. He cocks his head, glancing between the chestnut mare and the other stallion.
Definitely recruiters.
He should probably talk to one of them, surprise them – it isn’t every day that someone waltzes up and offers to join your kingdom in the Field, is it? He doesn’t think it is. He runs his black tongue across his sharp teeth – shiny and white, so pretty – before moving in for a closer look. They’re exchanging pleasantries by the time he arrives, and Tarnished stands quietly off to the side, waiting his turn.
They probably think he’s here for the mare, too.
That makes him smile.
“Name’s Tarnished,” he offers, flicking back his left ear. “And I’m looking to join a kingdom. Give me a good reason, point me in the right direction and I’m yours.”
Not that most magicians would care enough to stop him.
None of them would, he wagers.
Except his stepmother.
Yael was and probably still is a beacon of hope.
Utterly pure and riddled with good morals, she would never stand for such a thing.
Tarnished sighs, his front right paw turning into a hoof seconds before he takes another step. His fur turns to hair, then begins to shorten; his muzzle thickens, his nostrils split open while his wolf-nose disappears. His ears slide back into the correct position and his face grows longer. The switch from wolf to Percheron Hybrid is smooth, quicker than it used to be, but he supposes he’s had plenty of practice over the last nine years. Quark did right by him when she put him through training. Drow, even better.
Tarnished wonders how they’re doing, if they’re still alive.
It’s been so long.
Luckily, something catches his golden eye and distracts him. There’s a group gathering around a mare; she’s tall, probably not as tall as himself, but he isn’t exactly an expert and definitely not at this distance. Black. Probably comes from the same stock as his family, but she isn’t nearly as thick. Definitely not a daughter of Vanquish. Scars? Oh, yes. Lots of those. He cocks his head, glancing between the chestnut mare and the other stallion.
Definitely recruiters.
He should probably talk to one of them, surprise them – it isn’t every day that someone waltzes up and offers to join your kingdom in the Field, is it? He doesn’t think it is. He runs his black tongue across his sharp teeth – shiny and white, so pretty – before moving in for a closer look. They’re exchanging pleasantries by the time he arrives, and Tarnished stands quietly off to the side, waiting his turn.
They probably think he’s here for the mare, too.
That makes him smile.
“Name’s Tarnished,” he offers, flicking back his left ear. “And I’m looking to join a kingdom. Give me a good reason, point me in the right direction and I’m yours.”
equus mutatio, immortality, disease manipulation, trait immunity