antlers and horns and scales (longclaw/any)

[Ajatar]

ajatar

devils speak of the ways in which she'll manifest;
angels bleed from the tainted touch of my caress.

The granite cliffs rise above the lulling sea in a scene of such serene peace that it makes Ajatar stop and stare. She'd seen water before - there was the river, Tephra's volcano is surrounded by water, even Pangea - which was now sunken into the ocean - was a water encircled wasteland. But this? Nothing was quite so beautiful, quite so peaceful as the way the crags and crevices touches the water. She pauses at the border - in part out of politeness, in part of awe, and watches the waves for a few moments before considering what to do next.

Why was she here, truly?

Longclaw. He approached her in Tephra, leading her through the river and the lands with that silly blue light over his head. Everything was fine - fine! - until...until it wasn't. She was sure he hated her now, sure that he regretted being her friend and what she had the power to do. It occurred to her - more than once - that she was no different from her mother. The power that flowed through her veins was tied to the ancient magician and traced farther back still to her grandsire, an equally evil magician. She closed her eyes to blink away the tears and the memories.

No, she was not like her mother.
Not yet.

But their ultimate goal was Nerine. Longclaw spoke of it with such reverence she had to see for herself. She couldn't rest until she'd explored all of Beqanna and its ever shifting landscape. How long before another shift brought about the end of life as she knew it? She was born after the time of magic, she didn't truly understand what she had to lose.

So she waits, quietly, unsure of what for - on the edges of the border of the kingdom.

@[Longclaw]

[Longclaw]

LONGCLAW

-I close my eyes, ignore the smoke-

He keeps to himself. What else is there to do? Ajatar hadn’t spoken on it, even though his uncouth offer of 'talking it over' had sprouted from disbelieving lips. “In shock,” he thinks, the determined pace of his gait never wavering, “I was in shock.”

It was more than that. In all his life he’d never seen Wyrm brought so low just as he deserved. He’d never witnessed that abominable creature flee from necessity, only from victory and satisfaction. It had been an …invigorating experience.

She saved your life. His conscious whispers; Wyrm would have been quick to do away with them both, or keep her captive in Nerine for someone else’s benefit. He always did prefer a meal over the toy. She almost killed you. It murmurs again and with a strong shake of his restored neck, Longclaw urges himself into a trot until he comes to stand beside her.

“My birth home.” He exhales, neck drawing taught to let the buffeting winds test and tangle his dark mane. For a moment his eyes fixate on the horizon, then they return to the ever familiar panes of her face. “Ajatar, I’ve never said this to anyone because I’ve never really felt it, but,” The stallion pauses, “I’m glad you’re my friend.”

And it seems right enough, that phrase: friend. She terrifies and fascinates, yet her mannerisms have ceased to change towards him so he assumes it’s correct. The palest flash of a smile rounds his fanged, blue lips and then it’s gone; leaving them both to admire the wild splendor of Nerine in passing silence until someone else makes it clear that they can go further.