forget all the names we used to know
It never even occurred to him that she might still be on the milk. Celest is young, yes, but she holds herself in a manner that Crevan can only deem appropriate for a horse already fledged into adulthood. This is why his appearance shifts inward with the hint of confusion; eyes pinching together at the center of his face, mouth curling with the awkwardness of this baby he’s brought along and her impotent, angry little demands. “There’s sure to be a broodmare where we’re headed.” He answers gruffly, the only bend he’ll give in way of friendship.
There were broodmares everywhere, after all. Season after season Crevan had avoided the meadow and her sister-lands because the pure stink of it rattled him. He’d been too young, too busy with boyish inclinations to think about making another carbon-copy of himself. “Thana seemed interested enough to show me.” He remembers, stepping nimbly behind the teal girl as she pauses to claim a hefty chunk of grass. His dark eyes dart to where she walks ahead; how old was she really?
“It’s not your place to care.” Crevan thinks. His stride lengthens, soon enough the two are happily keeping tandem pace but Celest opens her mouth once more and something she says strikes him.
So much so that he stops. “What did you call me?” He asks, incredulous that she should know a nickname given to him at birth. “Impossible,” His mind races, “impossible.” There’s the quick turn of Celest’s fine head, but Crevan is motionless. Rooted to the spot by how fluidly she’d said it - Fire-Fang - as if she’d known it all her life.
His gut clenches. The tremor of anger that sparks in his thoughts runs the course of his spine and leaves him vibrating with raw energy. Another telepath? Or perhaps a vision dweller? (He’d heard there was a horse who could see your every move, every step you’ve ever taken.) Crevan snorts, releases his grip on the shape he’s wearing now, and shifts seamlessly into his favorite skin.
Hunched, back arched while the finishing touches turn his tail from navy to ivory, he looks up once more with sharpened senses and snarls quietly at the strange girl before moving to catch up again. “Don’t call me that, ever.” He presses, the sound squeezing between clenched teeth. “My name is Crevan.” He says instead, the subtle crunch of brittle leaves underfoot causing his attention to divert again.
The pale trunks and bloody treetops are soon to envelop them whole. “You’re my captive, Celest. And you’ll be staying here in Sylva for quite a while, so get comfortable.”
Lean, hungry for an actual hunt, Crevan is bristling with anticipation of their arrival. His eyes roam the dark treeline for any sign of life - “They’ll be busy with the party.” No one is about. There’s no hesitation, however, when he slips past the bone-like trees. Only a sense of giddiness. “Come on,” He sighs, happy to be enveloped into the safety of his home, “There’s some shit you have to see.” He laughs pleasantly - the first since meeting her - and then his legs are carrying him ahead of the strange filly, leading her, as if this had been something she’d wanted.
Maybe, without them even knowing, it's something the both of them need.
revan
@[Celest]