metaphor
Though Metaphor does not know this court or its queen, he feels a strong sense of duty and an urge to protect. This was Katniss’ home, and so, it was his as well. His mind drifts to their little house at the edge of the woods… the one with a fire at the hearth and flowers on the table. Their peace and harmony was worth fighting for, and with Isra the queen stolen, it was only a matter of time until the darkness comes to Denocte.
Already, he had seen the horrors of murder in the Dawn Court. Maybe the same beast who had caused such damage is the one who had taken Isra. Raum. The beast had a name. Metaphor’s jaw is set in a clenched manner as he reaches to stroke his mate with a reassuring touch.
“You must.” His voice is quiet and thoughtful as he validates Katniss desire to fight. Though he didn’t like her going into battle, he understands that this is a valid reason… and a necessary one. ”We all must fight… for if we do not, the very peace of this place cannot be found again.” Stepping a few paces away from Katniss, he addresses the winged mare, Moira.
“I am not a fighter, but I shall be available as a healer for those who need it. We will need our wits about us, and every gift should be put to bear, in the name of vengeance.”
The red stallion steps back with the others then, a resolute sadness washing over him as Maaemo’s orb blinks steadily beside him. If anything, it was just one more reminder to him that peace was such a fleeting thing… that greed and selfishness would always threaten stability in life. At least this time though, they would attack as a unit. The Night Court, for all its eccentricities, seemed united in this regard.
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