"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
It is time for her to hobble back to the Chamber with her head down and her tail between her legs.
Shaytan never really meant to leave the ashen land, she simply got distracted and then discouraged, and like any socially inept individual, thought it would be easier to just...not go back than to try and explain why she fails so miserably at everything she tries to do. The feeling isn’t one of shame, exactly (she has no shame, otherwise she would be overrun in rodent guilt), but she knows that her absence was probably noted and that it wouldn’t look good in Straia’s eyes.
Oh Straia! Lovely, lovely Straia. She smiles a little smile, thinking of her Queen. Oh, the curve of her flanks! The slope of her brown and white neck!
A small poke at her ribcage rouses Shaytan from her blasphemous reveries, and she looks down at the thing that appeared by her side a month ago (there was another thing - but it was black and dead) She gave it a name, Everything needs a name, and the girl (she just sort of assumed it was a girl) was… cute at times. Usually only when Shaytan watches her frolic from afar. So Sayaa follows her around, and Shaytan feeds her, and does not think of the pain (it reminds her of the fire) and conveniently forgets all the things she has done to make the girl and her stillborn brother. The truth is that it's probably for the best that one of them died in the womb. Shaytan is a wretched mother. Worse than Belgarath, and that's saying a lot. He, at least, paid attention to his children (sometimes). Shaytan would probably forget Sayaa existed if she didn't keep clamoring for food and lay against her for warmth at night.
She looks down at the girl blankly, as if she could not fathom what Sayaa could want right now. After a moment, Shaytan resumes walking, crossing the border into the Chamber.
Shaytan looks really odd at the moment. Her colors are fading, but her body is still tinted red, though the bunny is the darker shade that she once was. Her mane and tail are streaked with light blue - as if she were a very old toy, one that has been left out in the sun too long, bleached by the sun and watered down by the rain. It’s unclear whether or not she’ll return to her original appaloosa markings, or whether they’ve all converged to form the bunny on her chest. In any case, it makes for probably one of the oddest scenes as Shaytan slowly picks her way through the trees (noting the regrowth with appreciation), as she is followed by a silent bay filly, who is completely left to her own devices. Shaytan doens’t once look back to see if she’s kept up or not, for all her thoughts are on Straia, and how she might be able to get back in her Queen’s good graces.
Shaytan
and every time she knocks I can't help but let her in
Straia knows where Shaytan has been. At least as of recently, when she was given her power. She sent the ravens to find the girl, make sure she wasn’t dying in a ditch. She wasn’t. And after that, Straia left her alone, tasking the ravens to alert her should something bad ever happen to Shaytan. Not that she thought Shaytan wasn’t pretty capable of taking care of herself, but just in case.
Other than that, Straia doesn’t think anything of it. They come and go. Shaytan wasn’t bound to the Chamber. Though there’s some disappointment, of course, that the girl didn’t work out. Straia was rather found of her strange, spotted friend. It had been nice as well not being the only female in the Chamber (though now they had Engelsfors, as well).
The smell is familiar when it hits her. Shaytan. She knows even before the raven lands on her shoulder and tells her that the spotted creature has returned with a smaller black one. Conversing with ravens was always interesting. To them, horses were creatures, four-legged trees sometimes. They were never horses. But Straia knows exactly who they are referring to, and can only guess at the tiny black foal that must be with Shaytan.
Straia weaves through the pine forests until she finds them. Shaytan is a wash of fading colors, like Erebor, and Straia can’t help but laugh at bit. It was such a sight, those colors. Erebor looked like Christmas had puked on him, and Shaytan looked like a bleeding sky. Erebor was worse, but still, they were both hilarious. “Shaytan,” she says with a smile, no questions as to where the mare had been. That was for later, because she was curious for an explanation. But she didn’t demand it right away. “And who is this?”
She imagines the words are whispered against her elegant neck, before she nips her lightly, teasingly, just to see what she tastes like. She imagines that she sounds like a sultry, sexy goddess, instead of a monotone croak.
Then - Oh dear god, Straia is laughing at Shaytan. It makes her want to fold her ears down like a bad puppy, then sink down into a puddle of goo and slip into the cracks in the ground. As it is, she momentarily lowers her head and looks up at her beautiful, shining, and now feather-clad Queen, and almost wishes the lady would spit fire at her. Wouldn’t that be better? How can she know where she stands when all Straia does is laugh at her?
Whilst Shaytan is drowning in imagined misery, Sayaa slips forward. Her caretaker doesn’t often seek others out, and with little verbal interaction, she is far from sociable. Curious, yes, like any child. But also maladjusted and underfed and so very close to being not quite right in the head. Sayaa’s legs are sturdy, but her ribs are visible, and she is very small. She moves glances cautiously up at Straia with big, copper colored eyes (the only sign of who her sire might be, as Shaytan can’t even seem to remember doing the deed), but says nothing.The filly just smiles, shyly, hoping that this one might be nice. She knows her name, of course, like any good pet does. She even sticks her black little nose out, just to see what Straia smells like.
She smells nice. She doesn’t smell like blood.
Shaytan finally notices that Sayaa has crept forward and frowns a little. Not because the girl’s shown herself, but because she doesn’t have an explanation.”This…?” She pauses for a moment, before starting again. “Sayaa. She is…” Shaytan cannot say mine, because that would mean she was unfaithful to Straia. So instead, she says,”she appeared by me. I feed her.”
Which is, you know, the truth. Mostly.
Shaytan
and every time she knocks I can't help but let her in
The girl hangs her head, and for a very brief moment, Straia almost feels bad. She is used to Erebor, who knows that her laughter is nothing but amusement. He knows that Straia understands there’s a story behind the hideously colored ponies that now litter Beqanna. He knows so much without her ever having to say it. But Shaytan is too close to Straia for that. Which the Queen knows, and should pay more attention to. Though still, Straia has trouble being anything but herself.
She takes a step forward, nipping at a light blue stand of hair. She picks it up, and then lets go, letting the piece of hair settle back into place. “Relax, darling. It’s all well and good.” She steps back just as the little black girl steps out to inspect Straia. She lets the child nose around, stare at her, do what children will do. She has very little experience with children that behave like children, though Sayaa doesn’t seem quite like the normal child either.
Straia spots the eyes, that copper color that borders on orange, and she wonders if the child is a product of the race to bear Covet children. If that stallion had ever worried about his legacy, he certainly didn’t need to do so now. Half the season’s generation belonged to the black stallion, and she feared they would all turn out as awkward and difficult and their father had been.
But hopefully not Sayaa. Not if she had anything to do with it, anyway. And she would, because it seemed highly unlikely Shaytan would protest. Not that Straia is convinced she can help the child become better adjusted than Shaytan could. Maybe Erebor would be of more use.
Straia also notes the clear lack of explanation, and she looks up at the mare with understanding. “I couldn’t have given you the girl.” She says, by way of an excuse for Shaytan. Straia may have some new found traits, but growing a penis isn’t one of them. She turns her attention back to the girl, sticking her nose out just slightly for the child to inspect. “You come find me, if you need anything. Okay? And eat some more. I’m sure your mother will let you.” This is partially directed at Shaytan, who might not be the most motherly type, but Straia guesses will listen to advice. The girl was a stick, and there were plenty of sticks in the Chamber already from all the trees. They didn’t need more.
I was looking for a breath of life another taste of divine rush
Her beloved doesn’t know just how much torture she endured at the hands of Nerissa. How often she pleaded to be let go, just so she could come back and bask in Straia’s smell. She doesn’t know what it’s like to feel your body catch on fire, to slowly melt and burn and twist into an unusable shape. She doesn’t know what it’s like to pass out from the pain. She doesn’t know. To live (somehow) through all that, only to come back and be laughed at? It would be enough to bring Shaytan to tears, if she were the crying type.
Shaytan cannot fault her. She does not, once darling passes her brown lips. And then they touch, and Shaytan could swear that her whole neck tingles now. Oh god. Her legs could turn into jelly and her eyes roll back if only Straia would say more… touch her more! She’s never felt lips so soft and gentle (she’s never felt a caress, period, but that’s beside the point) Alas, her Queen does not, and instead turns her attention to the bay girl, which makes Shaytan want to kick it when Straia isn’t looking. Stupid girl. Ruins everything.
She is a jealous mother. Would be a jealous lover, but who in their right mind would let her get that close?
The girl is lucky, for now. The Queen’s presence is her saving grace. Sayaa smiles shyly and nods her head in understanding, and takes a couple of steps away from Shaytan. She wants so very, very much to go with the new lady who says she will help her with anything. But then her stomach growls and she turns back to her mother, clearly bound by nature and not knowing any better. Spindly little legs carry her back to nurse and take full advantage of lady’s instructions, her black tail flicking as she begins to eat her fill for the first time in days.
Shaytan hates the feeling of suckling. It tickles. And is uncomfortable. Plus the girl always seems to be hungry. The pink mare clenches her jaw and seems to focus on Straia’s ear and feathered crown. She doesn’t know what it means, or what it could possibly signify. But oh, it is lovely. It makes her seem like a real Queen. “Tell me what you need. Give me something to do.”
Straia need only speak the words, and Shaytan would do it.
Whether or not she would succeed is another story.
The quests are one of the few things her ravens cannot see. She knows of them, certainly. They ravens tell her something strange is happening, but they cannot see past the magic that surrounds the place. So rarely are horses actually sent on a quest inside Beqanna. Those she thinks she might be able to see. But not Nerissa. Not the horrors and the melting plastic and the screaming children. She has no idea what’s happened to Shaytan, to Erebor, to all those strangely colored horses. All she knows is something happened, and it made her son stronger. For which she is pleased for him, and for the Chamber.
Straia notices the way the girl steps away from Shaytan rather easily, heading toward Straia. Who, herself, is not exactly motherly. She’s not likely to kick the child and all, but she doesn’t hug or tell her child how much she loves him. He knows, and that is enough. They don’t need to waste time with words that are far less meaningful than actions. She would die for her son in the same way she would die for the Chamber (in part, because those things would be one in the same, given how he serves this kingdom). That is more than words can mean.
Poor child. This is no loving home. Though Engelsfors had one on the way. Maybe soon there’d be someone to help socialize Sayaa, another child to give her something to do. Soon enough, she wouldn’t be tethered to her mother for food. Soon enough, she’d be eating all on her own. And Straia doubts that Shaytan means badly, but rather, simply doesn’t know. After all, had anyone cared for Shaytan?
Even Straia had once had a mother that told her bedtime stories.
The girl goes back to eating, taking Straia’s words to heart. Straia turns her attention back to Shaytan, who’s asking for something to do. There is only one thing to do, really, though there are many ways to go about it. “Serve the Chamber,” she says simply. It is, on the surface, not a very complicated request. But of course, to truly serve the Chamber means to give everything. A heart. A soul. A life.
“If you are unsure where to start in that task, shadow Engelsfors. She’s got a pretty little tongue, and I imagine she can teach you something about being a diplomat. Or Warship, who will never manage to teach you anything remotely diplomatic, but he’ll teach you how to kick really well. That might be more up your alley. Shadow Warship. Help him where he needs it.” A squire for her General. She supposed it was only fitting. Warship was quickly proving that he wanted that title again.
“And take care of your girl. She is the future of the Chamber as much as Erebor.” Yes, she just called the girl a princess. Sort of. Equated her to royalty, anyway. It’s close enough, like semi-adopting the child. But wouldn’t they be raising to together, anyway? Shaytan certainly wouldn’t be doing it alone. And then she adds, a bit more quietly than her usual tone. “It is good to have you back, Shaytan.”
