when the stars threw down their spears and water'd heaven with their tears:
Colt. He’d been a colt the last time they’d laid eyes on each other.
But that had been Lupei’s fault.
Or was it hers? True - his father had torn him apart from his mother and twin early, perhaps at first to promote safety (Wyrm was dangerous, there was no doubt of that) but eventually it became some sort of grooming experiment. He’d turned from son to minion to protege in a matter of months, and then Lupei had disappeared to raise a daughter. “He was a special kind of bastard, wasn’t he?” The shifter thinks as his eyes rake over Zojja’s unchanged shape. How his sire had ever managed to capture her respect and love, Wyrm would never know.
Though, to be fair, she’d never protested the idea of separation either. Or, if she did, Wyrm was unaware of it. “That articulation will do just fine, I think.” He replies sardonically, ever true to his own habits and nature. He’d been the flashy, confident counterpart of the twins and perhaps, deep down, that had never changed. However, it doesn’t stop him from reaching forward with own body, eagerness etched into every line and curve of his shape as he meets noses with one-half of his creators. A feeling of nothingness sweeps over him at the greeting.
She’d been too long gone and he was a father himself now, detached from all that motherly love and affection oedipal connections create and instead, had poured his affections into Heartfire and their brood. In his small, misshapen heart there’s room for no one else. “I saw Kudu some time ago.” He recounts, withdrawing to settle easily in the company of his dam. “Though I doubt that’s what you’re here for. In fact, I doubt you expected me at all. I can easily say that I’m mutually surprised by our fated encounter.” The green stallion tells her, thoughts darkening with knowledge she had yet to understand.
“But I am glad to see you, mother.” He murmurs. It’s been a long time since that word left his mouth. “You came looking for him, didn’t you?” He accuses, though not maliciously. He understands. “You know he’s no longer here, don’t you?” He asks, this time even lower still.
“He’s dead.” He wants to say, but he won’t. “He’s dead, and I killed him.”
did he smile his work to see? did he who made the Lamb make thee?
