Nightwalker's blood; kids, etc

[Kitra]

kitra

vanquish x yael

Kitra was far, too far for any kind of urgency on her part (when her mother hadn’t even bothered to actually send for her) when the call came. Kitra had moved past her parent’s kingdom, a distant alcove faraway, filled with lust and inhibitions - sweet little pleasures that had nothing to do with responsibility. Once her father had passed and her mother had essentially given the crown to those two mares, ambition had shattered into little fragments that Kitra had never cared to put back together. She hadn’t blamed her mother for that choice, of giving up so easily to the gods, how could she? Oh how the sorrow had shadowed her mother’s beautiful face for so long after the Nightwalker had gone. In a grip of selfishness much like him, she had left. Her heart needed to feel the abandon of having no name in a place where her past could be all lies passed between her lips of strangers, if she so pleased. The freeness of love, the intense depth that desire could take you to - now that was living. And she hadn’t looked back in a long, long time.
 
Kitra was never quite sure if it was her stroke of sweet luck in the gene lottery or more the workings of her mother, but she was svelte and lean where her brothers were bulky and hard-muscled. An oil black mare with long legs, a petite neck and face that is bathed in gold. A gold that could not luster more brightly than if a sheet of gold metal had been painted across her. She is pitch black everywhere but her dished face and gold stockings that rise high up to her lean forelegs. Her coat was a perfect fusion of her parents, an unpleasant realization that crosses her mind as she makes her way to her birthplace. The once-princess had been torn by her father’s murder, she had been nothing less than a coddled princess beneath his breadth and his absence opened a void she had since craved to fill.
 
The black and gold mare is covered in an undulating sheen when she crests the hill of the highest dune, her nostrils quivering wildly at the wild suggestion of what the wind carried. Gaza, Kreios were there as well as a few others who elicited no familiarity to her but it was one scent in particular that quelled her heart and pushed her faster through the sands of her childhood.
 
There, beneath the sprawling impossible oak, was her father. In a better form than she had known him to be in before his death even – not a hint of grey was there to lighten his nose as she had so fondly remembered it being. Kitra and her brothers, her twins, had come late in the king’s life but they had been especially indulged by him for that reason too. “Father!” Kitra squeals a child's squeal, shouldering past a purple colt that had teleported from her father’s side almost directly in front of her rapid frame as she moved towards the oak and the king. When she lopes past Kreios and Gaza, she gives them both small nips as she laughs out-loud, “how?” She asks, dipping a gold-blazoned face into the crook of his wing, “nevermind that,” she says, “thank the gods!” She tilts her head back, closing her eyes before turning to her siblings, “and my brothers too?” Another laugh, musical and light despite the heaviness that had just lingered in the air here, bursts past her black lips. “You must be Etro,” she indicates with a toss of her face, “hello sister,” she says as she bridges the gap of space between them. She had of course heard of her younger sister’s abilities but Kitra had no gifts besides the lineage in her blood, there was no reason for her to hesitate.  She extends a golden nose out to her sister, “a meeting long overdue," she says, turning to the rest of them, "all of us."

[Lexa]

the dead are gone, and the living are hungry.

They’ve got quite the party going on here.

Not long after she arrives, two more horses appear and join the gathering. One is not at all surprised, but the other appears just as confused and suspicious as she feels. At least she’s not alone in that.

Then, finally, the winged stallion beneath the tree makes a move. First he greets the bay mare with a familiarity that speaks of a previous relationship, then rushes to greet the brightly coloured coat. And then, he turns to her. Her eyes narrow at him, but he assures her that she is safe here, and reveals that he is the Deserts’ king. The king. Her eyes widen quickly. The whole situation makes even less sense now.

The winged giant moves to greet the others and when he is done, he finally turns to address the group as a whole. Vanquish. She’s never heard the name, but that’s not surprising. Lyris has never been much of one for telling stories of the history of Beqanna.

And then he drops the bombshell. Grandfather? Her mind whirs. She knows the names of Lyris’ parents - Griffon and Linnaea - so this must be her father’s father. Gaza’s father. Are all of these horses from her father’s family?

She’d never once thought that she might have so many relatives out there.

Vanquish continues, offering them whatever assistance he can give, and she can’t help but snort. Besides knowledge of her father, what could she even need from him? She has a home, a home that she loves, and an admittedly ridiculous mother that she also loves. She’s fine with what she has. “I do not need or want anything from you.”

Suddenly another stallion appears. He’s another giant - an obvious relative of the Desert king. The stallion greets Vanquish and then, much to her surprise, turns to face her. She is immediately struck by the bright golden eyes … such a similar shade to the coronet band around her front left angle. And then he too drops a bombshell.

Gaza. This is Gaza. This is her father. She’s momentarily struck dumb. She had come here hoping to meet her father, but ever the pessimist, she hadn’t exactly expected it to happen. And yet, here he is. Right in front of her. “Hello dad.” She doesn’t even notice when another mare approaches and joins the group.

lexa

[Kreios]

kreios don't you tame your demons, but always keep them on a leash I look over as another appaloosa joins us, expecting to see perhaps another nephew. There is something about the boy though, something familiar, but I am too distracted by the arrival of my father to pay much mind to a boy that I don’t even know. He says my name – I am so accustomed to him calling me ‘boy’, or ‘you’ that it sounds strange in my ears. Stranger though is the apology that follows it. It is something I had wanted for years, something I had imagined and pictured a dozen times as a child. It feels hollow. I return the gesture – brushing my pale nose against his dark one – but not the sentiment. It is too raw, but physical affection I am comfortable with. We can ‘hug it out’, but talking is an entirely different matter. I do not want to brun bridges though, and so I tamp down the immeadite reply and choose to wait. It is wise, I think as Vanquish turns back to the rest of the horses. He offers Kreios – offers all of them – whatever they wish. What does Kreios want? He wants a childhood where he was not his father’s least favorite son. He wants the life that he might have had if his sire were not ashamed of him. But that is not something that Vanquish can give him. That is not something that anyone can give him – not even Yael. Two of my family members – for they must be family – say that they require nothing, and I am spared from answering by the arrival of another face that I recognize. I knew him as a far younger stallion, but to Gaza I offer the first genuine smile since my arrival in Beqanna. He had always been kind to me – kinder by far than by blood brother – and given the way he greets the young mare he has continued that habit into adulthood. I take a moment to glance back at our father, and decide in that moment that while a reuinion is in order, I am not entirely ready for it. “I’ll be back,” I say, not entirely able to meet my sire’s eye. I mean the words though, and even though I turn to head for less memory-laden ground, I know that I will not be long in returning.

[Szeth]

Luckily he does not have long to wait for his question to be answered. The massive stallion beneath the tree steps forward, addressing many of the gathered horses individually, finally ending with the strange clawed stallion that Szeth had noticed before.

He can’t help but start when the black mentions the clawed stallion’s name. Kreios.

His father.

As the black stallion turns to address all of them, Szeth’s eyes remain fastened on Kreios’ face, transfixed by the stallion that he knows so little about. He still listens to Vanquish’s words though, and his eyes leave Kreios only when the black stallion mentions his relation to all of the horses present.

These horses, all of these horses here, are apparently his family. It’s odd for him to think about and the enormity of it doesn’t truly sink in. For all his life, Szeth’s family has consisted of his mother Syl, his little sister Hidatsa, and his father Skullu. Well, his adoptive father. It’s hard for him to imagine a connection to so many other horses, let alone so many … unnatural ones.

When Vanquish makes his offer, Szeth gives him a quick nod and a quiet, “thank you, but I need nothing from you,” before finally getting the guts to step up and face the stallion responsible for his conception. “Hello Kreios.” He can see … some … similarities, now that they’re face to face. The size, the spots … thank god he missed out on those claws. “My name is Szeth. I’m your son.”