[SWP] brontide

[Raymond]

***

The road from there to here had done nothing to assuage Raymond's misgivings, either spoken or unspoken. Their goddess led them like cattle to what could as easily be a slaughterhouse as a verdant field and offered no support, no strength, no words that they mortals could not have produced alone. He wasn't sure yet whether that threatened to put him at ease or justify his atheism.

Maybe, he wanted to say, someone should walk up to them, and if they tear that horse's head off we'll know they don't want to be friends, because comedy was always a great way to fill the spaces between actions. But Isra stepped forward with newfound conviction and spoke of faith, and it took a great deal of the strength the red stallion had left to restrict the upwelling wave of displeasure to a slow tilt of his eyes down and away, toward Calliope.

Faith had almost ruined him. It festered in the wounds of crumbling edifices, disguising itself like golden kintsugi until the day the weight of its rot grew too great.

Faith was no friend to Raymond.

If nothing else, Isra has given them a target, Calliope said. The red stallion would have happily agreed with her, but for the fact that the neck stretched so prettily for the guillotine would be an absolute bitch to bury later. And if the night queen wanted to risk her life for faith, then her regent would have to risk his to keep her safe.

With a sigh into pursed lips, Raymond stepped forward to join Isra, wearing the black-glass stillness of the lake before sunrise. He moved like he was untouchable - not because he had faith, but because he knew exactly what he wanted and exactly what he was capable of - and his eyes were neither entranced by Isra's story nor frightened by the Thunderbirds.

He offered not the barest hint of antagonism beyond the weight of his own self-assurance, but heaven help bird or beast that dared to threaten the night queen in that moment.

***

Raymond
And at his feet they'll cast their golden crowns
When the man comes around.