Gale
this is going to break me clean in two --
this is going to bring me close to you
The Curse has sunk its slick black tendrils into every bit of its host, driving out the last vestiges of Gale. All that remains is the shell of the navy stallion, and even that the Curse often shifts and changes.
Tonight he does not, and remains the nearly golden horse, his head raised to meet the burnished gaze of the black griffin. A pair of griffins had nested in the red hills of Loess, he remembers, and they’d had a trio of mottled eggs.
He shifts as she gives assent, becoming a pale gold griffin streaked with navy blue. His wings are white - the one marked in scarlet red.
The bright fire of her own markings are nearly an aphrodisiac, but he has been careful. While enjoyable, lust is not the Curse’s primary motivation, and he has remained intentionally distant from Mazikeen. The orange eyed mare elicits too many emotions in him, and it is best to keep away.
With Gale gone entirely, the Curse had assumed that the troublesome reactions to the Alpha would disappear as well. Its black heart is not meant for such things, and so it had ached in a way that neither healing nor regeneration can mend.
There is no pain now, only pleasure as he steps close, and presses his shoulder against hers, the low rumble of a purr sounding in his feline chest. Being near her, against her, is satisfying in a way he cannot explain. He knows, without a doubt, that it is a Very Bad Sign.
Attempting to distract himself by going over his plans for the evening, he is interrupted by Mazikeen’s question. Another name?
The Curse has no name - it simply is. The hosts always have names, and it takes those. It has been called a dozen things. “Gale.” it tells her, though no bit of the Gale she knows remains.
Their stroll has put distance between them, moving through the rocky terrain as they leave the mountainous kingdom. Gale doesn’t name their destination, and even forgets it entirely a time or two when he catches her eye.
The third time it happens, he shares the plans, just to keep himself focused on the task and not on the plausibility of dragging her off into the bushes. They’re going to steal someone, and Mazikeen will keep them captive here in Hyaline until an appropriate ransom has been paid.
“You can choose the target,” he offers, feeling rather benevolent.
@[Mazikeen]
|
Gale
