[private] hand in unlovable hand; ripley

[Ripley]

It knows that name - though it has only ever been called it by the mother. Even its tenure as a tethered servant to the master had not come with the use of names. The daughter that was, the hunting partner, was born into that captive state and never called anything at all. They had simply not needed them. The word he speaks, that name, is a remnant of a time forgotten. Of a knobby-kneed filly that would have smiled at her mother whenever it was spoken and giggled as her father rolled in the grass. It almost doesn’t recognize the syllables, though - because it is so different, hearing Ryatah say them and hearing them from this creature. It is on edge, a curling ghost caressing its spine. It would be fear for anyone else, a warning, but not for this armoured queen. Soulless black eyes stare with what may very well be curiosity. The sort one feels when examining a new food for the first time. The question he poses next receives only a blank stare in response. He changes forms, from predator into prey. Some instinct alerts it to not be fooled by the change, though - some half-buried memory reminding the queen that this is no ordinary horse standing before her, no matter how plain and chewable he appears now. It is a vague, minor instinct - not enough to stop it from taking a step closer. Yes, it might say if it could. It remembers. And its voice would be unimpressed. Just another face, another magician. It has known so many. Half memories flash through its mind - two black, one a mare  sporting a blue eye, and two dapple greys - one with ice blue eyes and the other standing before it now, with those of blood. RIPLEY