Metaphor was new to this land. He didn’t know much about it, or what his place would be… but he knew it was home now. Here, he had found Katniss again, which signified that the red stallion was done running. He was quite ready to be finished with the searching, the wanting. Now, Metaphor wanted little more than to relax and find comfort in the arms of his lover. The world around them kept spinning though, and with it, he knew that the magic would inevitably draw them into chaos. Still, the land is too new for the healer to know the gravity of what it could bring. So, to find the murdered bodies of two innocents in the forest was far from his idea of a welcome to Novus.
Drawn to the forest, the red stallion had allowed himself moments of peace beneath the trees. In his life, he’d never really understood the power of nature until Maaemo had granted him earth magic. With this gift, Metaphor had learned to grow life from the ashes. He’d mastered his element, bonding with the earth goddess and pledging his allegiance to her cause. Sydan was long gone now though, and as he moved from realm to realm, his powers seemed to wane and return at whim. Here, he’d tried to test it… but nothing had come. Here, Metaphor was as plainly ordinary as he’d been the day his mother had birthed him in Enipeus. And that was fine… for the healer was a simple beast, and one who didn’t need magic to brighten his world. He had everything he needed.
The forest was buzzing with activity, and Metaphor could sense even without the magic, that there was a certain stillness and nervousness in the creatures who roamed it. Concern painted its way across his face as he delved deeper into the wood, caution flagged as he kept his wits about him. Behind the stallion traveled Maaemo’s orb, glowing steadily and calming his nerves as he walked. It didn’t take long though for the morning’s flurry of activities to catch him, ears pricking toward the child’s voice, picking up on the fear. Without hesitation, Metaphor ran toward the sound, crashing through the underbrush with his heart in his chest as he neared the scene of the crime.
Stepping into the clearing, his breath is labored, and as he draws in more air, he picks up on the unmistakable scent of blood. Something terrible had happened here.
His warm chocolate hued eyes pick up on the child, taking in his pallor as he wasted no time in making his way to the boy’s side. For a moment, there is a flicker of recognition… this boy had been at Ravos and Rift. But today was not the day to strike up a conversation about the past. Are you hurt? He ignores the proverbial elephant in the room, immediately noting the bodies but more concerned with the living as he looks the child up and down, drawing him into his chest for comfort. Against him, Pan shakes like a leaf – afraid, but otherwise seemingly unharmed. It was clear the boy was in shock, so Metaphor reaches out to stroke his mane, whispering a murmured “it’s okay” as his eyes took in the scene.
Something brutal had done this – something merciless. There was little he could do for the dead now but avert his eyes in respect. They would need to clear the bodies before others were drawn into a similar state of shock… but for now, Metaphor only offers comfort to Pan, focusing on the living and what comfort he could offer, while he waits for what he is sure are others to stumble upon the bloody clearing.
