the huntsman drew off the wolf's skin
and went home with it
and went home with it
S
moke clings to him like a second skin, its touch warm and lingering. The golden ring upon his horn is bright and shiny, as if it too, is laughing into the night.But oh, his eyes laugh the loudest.
They’re greener than the sea that the city sits beside, especially on this moonless, godless night. Tonight he is the only god that matters, a god of fire and smoke and deceit. He was as bright as Solis, as clever as Oriens, and he had the same darkness as Caligo. Untouchable, or so his mind had convinced him.
The roar of the flames and the shouts of horses fell away behind him, but he could still feel the heat flushing his cheeks. Let them try and stop it, his thoughts were wild, wicked things that flew through his mind at the speed of light. None of them are fireproof. He doesn’t know yet who would fall victims to the flames, if anyone did - nor does he care. His role in the destruction is done. The citizens of Denocte could do what they wanted with the aftermath.
He had not stopped to look back for Abel. They had arrived too quickly, faster than he had thought they would, and the first mare had run at him without hesitation. He supposed he should consider himself lucky; it had not been him, after all. But he would thank his skill for that, and the golden charm that had turned him into a ghost. Perhaps it was for the best; Toulouse had seen the conflict in Abel’s eyes. The boy could lie with his mouth, but not with his body. Denocte was still his home,
He had released the enchantment not far from the fires; Raum may have preferred him to wait until he was safely out of the city, but the silver king wasn’t here tonight to tell him so. Toulouse was alone, and he fully intended to revel in knowing so.
Ducking through an alley, Toulouse weaves through the darkness and reappears back on the main streets. A single street lamp casts its pale yellow glow upon his back, bringing life and color back to his frame.
For a moment he’s still, basking in the lamplight. Behind him the city is in chaos, flames more beautiful than any sand dune in Solterra dancing the night away. He’s tempted, dangerously so, to go back and watch - to even help, just so he can be there to witness his work. The wind plays with his hair, tugging him back the way he’d come, convincing him to return…
But he shakes his head. His diamond-shod hooves sing sweetly against the cobblestones with every meandering step he takes. There was time yet before he had to leave for the lake, where all those who made it out clean would meet up. He knew at least one man who wouldn’t be there, and one who would, but he would have to wait and see who else joined him at the silver water’s shore.
He had time to wander until then.
And wander he would, while smoke choked the cloudy sky behind him, not a star in sight to witness the smile hiding upon his lips.
