[open] the winter's come and gone.

[Meyer]

_______________________________

I wake before the sun, in the sullen gray of dawn. I had bedded down in the relative safety of the Ruins for some time now and last night was no different. While it is not an entirely deserted piece of the common lands, it is one of the least frequented places in Beqanna, a factor at the top of my list when considering where to ‘skulk’, as Set would say. The singular advantage of populated areas is that I can usually spend time seeking out magicks, familiarizing myself with the myriad of them as best I can from a distance. My mane and forelock are still growing back from a recent experiment with fire-breathing, the ends pale, curled and breaking off. I keep to myself in order to avoid Niklas and his lot as best I can. While I have no doubt that they can find me easily should they care to, I still find some semblance of comfort in my solitude. I do what I can to protect myself, honing my defenses as I can, and they’ve left me be for nearly two seasons now. I am far from grown but also no longer the beaten, defenseless colt Dretch had quite literally dragged home, covered in lice, skin and bones ...

The air is damp with springtime humidity. The stretch of river I’m bound for is no longer high and swollen with the melting snow of kingdoms and territories further north; in fact, it’s particularly slow here, where it bends away from the Forest before gathering speed for its final push toward Baltia. It is one of my favorite spots and maybe I frequent it too much but I cannot bring myself to break the habit. The woods echo with birdsong as the sun finally makes an appearance above the trees, weak shafts of light catching on the scruffy golden bay of my coat. With nowhere to be and no one to answer to, I stop just inside the treeline, still and waiting for so long my legs begin to tingle from the lack of circulation. Just as suddenly as I’d stopped, I start again, eventually picking my way down the bank and wading into the shallows.

I am what I think is content for the first time in my life as far as I can remember ... and this feeling has me on edge enough that my nights are fitful and my stomach frequently in knots. Knee deep, I drink my fill, always listening for changes in my surroundings. A fish bumps against my leg and I flinch, freezing before letting out tendrils of my particular brand of magic to probe at what I cannot see. Just a regular, normal fish. When I raise my head, water dripping from my dark chin, I watch the forest's shadows with suspicion.

[Iliana]

I L I A N A

Other than the forest, she is finding the river to be another suitable place for wasting time.

Neither of them reminded her of home; her home is gone, as far as she is concerned. Hyaline’s lake might still exist, but it is an entirely different kingdom that has grown around it, one that she does not recognize no matter how similar their features might be. Perhaps in time she would learn to love the Dale as it is, but for now it only serves to remind her of the things she has lost, and the things that cannot be undone.

She could have gone to the Chamber — the place where her father’s heart once beat beneath the soil, the reason for the scar he bore on his chest, and the thing he had once loved most. She had visited the kingdom in hope that stepping onto such hallowed ground might make her feel something; that her blood might be drawn to the call of her father’s heart, but try as she might, she felt nothing while she was there. There was no heartbeat, either; she is certain that even if she felt nothing else, she would have felt that.

Feeling unmoored, there is nothing left for her to do but to wander.

In her panther form she moves quietly along the riverbank, not necessarily trying to go unnoticed but certainly not trying to attract attention to herself. It was easy enough not to; she had been born with the ability to shift into a panther, had soaked in everything Atrox had ever been willing to teach her. She knew how to slink so that the grass beneath her paws did not rustle, knew to be mindful of rocks and other debris that might move. In the warm sunlight her rose-gold rosettes glint against her velvet-black fur, though they disappear as she slips into the shadows cast by the trees that line the river, and it is only her unusually colored eyes that give any visual indication that she is not a normal wildcat.

She sees him, the stallion that stands in the water, and struck by a rare need for mischief she decides to see just how close she can get to him before he notices. She would never (probably) injure another horse—her prey was limited strictly to truly wild animals. But there was typically something more challenging about trying to catch a horse off guard, and so lying low she creeps closer and closer to the water, rose-gold eyes focused on her mock target.

-- the shadow is mine, and so is the valley

@Meyer

[Meyer]

_______________________________

I know well the sensation of being hunted.

It starts off imperceptible to all but the most attuned to those sorts of things; those accustomed to being prey. The best hunters make no sound as they stalk but the hunted who stays alert can taste it on their breath – - metallic and earthy. It tic-tacs down your spine and snakes between your flesh and hide, thud-thudding along with your heartbeat; and your blood begins to hum with adrenaline, low and buzzing at first, then a flood of limb-aching dread. That basic instinct to survive stirred to life in the clench of your gut and the sudden dryness of your mouth. Do you stand your ground or take a chance and flee? Down either path lies uncertainty. How I despise not knowing.

I do my best to give off a nonchalant air, dipping my mouth to the river’s surface again and weighing the surrounding forest and my options. The water and woods are still quiet, save for the usual sounds of morning as the earth stirs to life, but I know something - someone - is out there. Has Set finally found another use for me? Has he sent Niklas to drag me back kicking and screaming to do the capricious magician’s bidding? They know I won’t be so easy to bend this time. Bent. Not broken. I will keep telling myself that until … well, until I no longer have to, I guess.

I carefully start to move further downstream, at the same time angling away from the bank. I go slow, the footing uncertain, the slow waters here murkier the deeper I get. I’m not particularly adept in the water, but I reason the more water between myself and whatever is out there, the better. I only make it a few steps before my coat begins to turn black, the light brown fading rapidly as panther fur burns its way across my body. He’s found me. If it were a normal panther, my magic wouldn’t have latched on to it … For all my bravado, I have only just learned the depths of my powers and I have little experience in wielding it. Typically, it wields me. Like now. Panic clogs my throat. All the confidence I’ve gained these past few months melts away in the span of a breath. All I can think is how Set’s found me and I’m not ready to face him yet. But face him I do.

I whirl on him with a strangled yowl, caught somewhere between horse and cat, mustering as much ferocity as I can though my sides heave with the effort and I fear my heart is going to tear through my ribcage. “I hope you choke!” I snarl. It’s the best I can come up with, swallowing hard to steady my voice, lashing my panther-flanks with my own tail, clutching the river bed with thick, furred paws. My skin crawls with the disjointed feeling, but I don’t dare take my focus off the woods.

@Iliana