I'll be a stone, I'll be the hunter,
The tower that casts a shade
***
The tower that casts a shade
***
The red stallion turned his head to regard Calliope, searching her face for a context to underpin the peculiar tone of her voice. She was unsettled - he did not need to love her to tell as much - but it was the gnawing disquiet of staring blindly into an uncertain abyss. He knew what awaited them, and however practiced he was at maintaining his composure, he was terrified.
An acknowledging half smile flashed across his lips. "Stay by my side," he said, his self-assured veneer eroding a bit, then added, "I don't know what she'll do."
The vulnerability in that truth hurt him nearly as much as the horror of what might happen should things go wrong.
Raymond looked out toward the slopes where he could feel the Tarrasque lying in wait, so catlike and serene in her preternatural patience. Another thousand years could pass waiting for his word and her boredom would only just begin to itch. Would that a thousand years could pass and they could die without facing such unquantifiable risk - but then life was never fair. He learned that early on. His muscles were taut as drawn bowstrings, straining for release with nowhere to leap. For all he knew, his body was all that would protect Calliope from the titan's violent inquisitiveness.
With a deep, steadying breath, he beckoned both telepathically and audibly with calm he did not feel, "Ruth?"
A low keening answered. The rhythmical thunder permeating the air crystallized into something comprehensible as the beast uncurled herself from where she lay beyond the rise, spines jutting up over the crest like a forest of curved blades. She lifted her head, fixing the pair with one bright blue eye beneath the shadow of her horned brow, necked torqued this way and that as she studied the dark shape beside Raymond with puzzlement strong enough to bleed through the link.
She towered, ill-fitting against the mountain tableau behind her owing to the sheer unreality of her size. In but a few strides she drew near; in a few more she would overtake them. Raymond stepped forward, willing his body to be a shield.
That will do, he cautioned for her alone with enough severity as to give the Tarrasque pause. Ruth crouched nearly to the point of cowering, hands placed palm-down upon the stony ground as she strained to catch wind of Calliope's scent in an effort to find meaning in the half-finished jigsaw of her own memories.
I know her.
The beast's conclusion came with evident uncertainty, as though the sum total of her experiences could not wholly be trusted. There would always be part of her that remembered the cat only as a dream, and it was that part of her that had struck Florentine out of the sky.
"You remember Calliope," he instructed as much as explained, and after a tense moment of consideration the Tarrasque huffed and curled her sinewy limbs beneath her, sending a tremor rattling through his bones as she laid relaxed into a placid feline sprawl. Raymond let slip a single bark of nervous, relieved laughter.
"What a world we live in, eh?" He stepped back, allowing the dark unicorn free rein to approach if she so chose and quietly hoping she would choose otherwise. "It should be safe."
If it wasn't, at this point she'd be as good as dead anyway.
An acknowledging half smile flashed across his lips. "Stay by my side," he said, his self-assured veneer eroding a bit, then added, "I don't know what she'll do."
The vulnerability in that truth hurt him nearly as much as the horror of what might happen should things go wrong.
Raymond looked out toward the slopes where he could feel the Tarrasque lying in wait, so catlike and serene in her preternatural patience. Another thousand years could pass waiting for his word and her boredom would only just begin to itch. Would that a thousand years could pass and they could die without facing such unquantifiable risk - but then life was never fair. He learned that early on. His muscles were taut as drawn bowstrings, straining for release with nowhere to leap. For all he knew, his body was all that would protect Calliope from the titan's violent inquisitiveness.
With a deep, steadying breath, he beckoned both telepathically and audibly with calm he did not feel, "Ruth?"
A low keening answered. The rhythmical thunder permeating the air crystallized into something comprehensible as the beast uncurled herself from where she lay beyond the rise, spines jutting up over the crest like a forest of curved blades. She lifted her head, fixing the pair with one bright blue eye beneath the shadow of her horned brow, necked torqued this way and that as she studied the dark shape beside Raymond with puzzlement strong enough to bleed through the link.
She towered, ill-fitting against the mountain tableau behind her owing to the sheer unreality of her size. In but a few strides she drew near; in a few more she would overtake them. Raymond stepped forward, willing his body to be a shield.
That will do, he cautioned for her alone with enough severity as to give the Tarrasque pause. Ruth crouched nearly to the point of cowering, hands placed palm-down upon the stony ground as she strained to catch wind of Calliope's scent in an effort to find meaning in the half-finished jigsaw of her own memories.
I know her.
The beast's conclusion came with evident uncertainty, as though the sum total of her experiences could not wholly be trusted. There would always be part of her that remembered the cat only as a dream, and it was that part of her that had struck Florentine out of the sky.
"You remember Calliope," he instructed as much as explained, and after a tense moment of consideration the Tarrasque huffed and curled her sinewy limbs beneath her, sending a tremor rattling through his bones as she laid relaxed into a placid feline sprawl. Raymond let slip a single bark of nervous, relieved laughter.
"What a world we live in, eh?" He stepped back, allowing the dark unicorn free rein to approach if she so chose and quietly hoping she would choose otherwise. "It should be safe."
If it wasn't, at this point she'd be as good as dead anyway.
***
Raymond
And at his feet they'll cast their golden crowns
When the man comes around.
Raymond
And at his feet they'll cast their golden crowns
When the man comes around.
@Calliope
aut viam inveniam aut faciam
