Something's got a hold on me || Wishbone ||

[Wolfbane]

Winter again. Snow and icy winds curling around shivering horses, confining them to their homes until another bitter season passes. Wolfbane (who no longer goes by such a name - too many equines know it, too many suspect him as an outcast or outlaw) has left Taiga in search of temperate climates that suit him better, though he no longer assumes any one gender or the other. His safety and anonymity lies in his ability to be fluid and ever-changing. Since he’d ravaged the northern woods and made himself known for trouble, the shape-shifter had come close to enacting a sort-of revenge on the inhabitants of the northern section of territory. Izora Lethia… Aten’s “mate”. She’d come as close as any horse to feeling his untapped power.

But he hadn’t hurt her, though he wanted to. Honestly he’d really wanted to. Blood or gore, her suffering sprinkled with some anguish along with the knowledge that Aten couldn’t be there to save her; all of the above would’ve been pleasing to him in that moment but instead Bane had just sneered and left. He was good at that, good at leaving behind things that mattered or made sense.

Blame it on the inward rebel, blame it on anything you want, in the end his target wasn’t large enough to satiate his desire for mayhem. That final meeting could’ve gone horribly but it didn’t without an explanation why.

No one aside from himself could make sense of it and he wasn’t the kind to explain. Childishly he’d longed to understand what Longclaw, his sire, had gone through during those last phases of insanity. Now he knew and it was more convoluted than anything conceivable. Or maybe it was so simple that the answer evaded him. Either way he knew what it was like, now. He knew the sensation of being overwhelmed and taken over. He knew what it was like to lose himself and not regret the loss. Lepis, Lilliana, Noah, Heartfire … an ensemble of complicated relationships torn asunder then tossed away. The past merging with the present, always. Was he young or was he old? Who was he?

In the present, it slumbered and awoke. Blinked into the light of a grey dawn and shivered as it rose from the refuse of the dying Meadow grasses. It was recognizable: yellow slashed through with blue stripes. That infamous mane bristling and tight as a sentry at the ready, standing tall and pale white in an unbroken row of hair that jutted out from between his quizzical brow to run the length of a strong, muscular neck before it ended at the withers.

Wolfbane uncurled himself from the snow and shook his body, blinking bi-colored eyes at the figure quickly coming into focus as it neared him.


@[Wishbone] here is a crappy, crappy starter for you