Days and nights now blend together, a timeless muddle that has proven so easy to grow lost in. The pewter stallion had never been particularly good at differentiating the days, and now they have become hopelessly confused. In the end, it hardly matters. Not when one’s life is an endless existence of regret and forgetfulness. The ceaseless nights are now broken only by sleep and hunting, the trill of Wren’s subdued song his only companion.
It had been easy to grow ever more feral in the face of this new world. With hunt or be hunted the wild mantra of these lawless times, Ion had given in more freely than he believed possible. Or perhaps, it is only because he had been taught to believe not so very long ago. Whatever the case, he has found the body of the predator to be vastly more comfortable. And vastly safer when squared against the beasts now shambling through his trees.
The branches tangling amidst the naked canopy are an efficient pathway. The leaves that had once budded out had long since dried and fallen, the fallow grounds beneath cushioned only by their dead brethren. He blends easily with the pitch of the night, Wren silent and still where he clings to the coarse fur of Ion’s spine.
It is only when the panther spies a figure below that he pauses. His yellow eyes are nearly swallowed by the pupils that have expanded to find light as he peers at the stranger. It is not often others venture this deep anymore. Not when the slithering beasts abound so freely in this darkened haven. Which means this stranger is either very brave, or very foolish.
It would have been simple enough to move on with her unaware of ever having been in his presence. But curiosity (and perhaps more than a small amount of loneliness) stays his paws. After a silent, thoughtful moment, Ion moves. He is swift and agile as he slips through the lowest branches of the canopy to leap to the damp forest floor. Wren flutters away in the sudden movement, chirping with irritation before settling between Ion’s shoulder blades once again when he has found purchase on the slick year-old leaves.
He does not shift immediately, instead eyeing the silver-haired mare curiously, wondering how she might react to the large predator appearing so suddenly before her.
ion
in the empty of the grave, only distant dreams remain
@[Sparrow]