01-10-2021, 08:06 PM
Nothing in this world comes free. I know this lesson well, and it stares me in the face now. My languid eyes pass over him carelessly, mouth held in an unimpressed line as he admits to his failure. I should be grateful, I suppose, that he can admit his loss. How many stallions were incapable of such admission? Too many. A simple "hm" of regret is all he gets before we move on.
Walking through the tangled glen, my body is an inconsistent guide in the shadows. Like a firefly, I shine for the briefest of moments, vanish, and reappear further away. But the way is known to me, and I lead my little entourage without much worry. There is a sacred space I have carved out beneath oak and ash, where I feel that we are safer. From the world, if not ourselves.
Eyes blinded by impenetrable night, I groan and stretch beneath the cover of tree branches. A tangled, living cavern that exists even if I can't see it. In the distance, a high-pitched wail is heard. Like a rabbit caught in the jaws of a fox, if that rabbit and that fox were warped beyond all recognition. I listen to it, thoughtful, and once Balto is near enough to feel again I turn.
It feels dangerous, having him at my back. Like trusting a copperhead to be kind. Then daring and tempting it with every opportunity to be cruel. To bite. That is why I must keep him well satiated. Fed and full on other's suffering. I promised him blood once, did I not? And who am I to not keep my promises.
"We did not make the correct sacrifices," I murmur, bell-like in the empty space. "Next time, we will prepare more carefully." There. The weight of failure, removed from his shoulders. They told me it would be this way. That I couldn't expect things to go as I wished if blood were not spilled on the earth. Nothing comes free. All must pay a price. I have paid mine time and again, now it's their turn.
Soft as fairy down, I make my way to press my hollow cheek to Balto's, cool skin colder when touching his. "Tell me-" I say, words fed directly to his ear. "If you did not bring home victory, what do you offer me instead? Knowledge, perhaps?" Had the Beast been watching closely enough? He had met an array of strangers, foes and competitors. Surely, in all the time he'd tarried in the battlegrounds, something useful must have come of it.
@[Balto]
Walking through the tangled glen, my body is an inconsistent guide in the shadows. Like a firefly, I shine for the briefest of moments, vanish, and reappear further away. But the way is known to me, and I lead my little entourage without much worry. There is a sacred space I have carved out beneath oak and ash, where I feel that we are safer. From the world, if not ourselves.
Eyes blinded by impenetrable night, I groan and stretch beneath the cover of tree branches. A tangled, living cavern that exists even if I can't see it. In the distance, a high-pitched wail is heard. Like a rabbit caught in the jaws of a fox, if that rabbit and that fox were warped beyond all recognition. I listen to it, thoughtful, and once Balto is near enough to feel again I turn.
It feels dangerous, having him at my back. Like trusting a copperhead to be kind. Then daring and tempting it with every opportunity to be cruel. To bite. That is why I must keep him well satiated. Fed and full on other's suffering. I promised him blood once, did I not? And who am I to not keep my promises.
"We did not make the correct sacrifices," I murmur, bell-like in the empty space. "Next time, we will prepare more carefully." There. The weight of failure, removed from his shoulders. They told me it would be this way. That I couldn't expect things to go as I wished if blood were not spilled on the earth. Nothing comes free. All must pay a price. I have paid mine time and again, now it's their turn.
Soft as fairy down, I make my way to press my hollow cheek to Balto's, cool skin colder when touching his. "Tell me-" I say, words fed directly to his ear. "If you did not bring home victory, what do you offer me instead? Knowledge, perhaps?" Had the Beast been watching closely enough? He had met an array of strangers, foes and competitors. Surely, in all the time he'd tarried in the battlegrounds, something useful must have come of it.
@[Balto]