YOU’RE ALL BRONZE AND BITE. ALL VENOM AND FISTFIGHT. YOU’RE THE DAWN THAT RISES BLOODY AND WRECKS SHIPS IN ITS WAKE, BUT YOU’RE A SIREN, TOO, SOMEWHERE IN THE ACHING HEART OF YOU.
There was no denying the tension stretched taunt between them, the manifestation of something predatory, something wild. Boudika had found herself wondering in life, more than once, what would become of them all if the strange shackles of society were removed. If the boundaries were destroyed, the pressure alleviated, the stupor social expectations replaced with vivid authenticity—what would become of them? What sort of wild would be released, dangerous and primordial? This was the thing that had existed so freely among the Khashran, who wore every sentiment on their sleeves, who sought a full life with a mouthful of fangs, the beauties and the horrors of it all.
It was what Boudika loved of them and she thought, between her and the strange unicorn, existed a similar tension beneath the surface. The difference, however, was the existence of the boundaries, the pressure, the social stupor. And so, Boudika repeated, quietly, ”There are ships here.” She did not confess her fears, she did not confess her weaknesses—but she hoped the reiteration said enough. Even as she spoke, in her minds eye, she imagined the journey home, only to discover it was no longer the semi-magical, perpetually dark place of her childhood. The wild had been brought in, the Khashran enslaved. They cast out nets to fish freely in the sea, and children swam in the coves as they had never done, in the history of her people. In doing so, they changed everything she had known. In doing so, they sealed her fate.
Boudika could not avoid answering a question so direct, however, and her crimson eyes settled on Thana the way muddied water settles. Slowly, with both growing intensity and clarity. “No. There is no longer anything for me there. The people I loved are gone, and the sea is tamed.” To say it aloud felt strange—to think, the untameable object of her youth had been brought to heel. To admit it, as one confessed their sins. It is all my fault. “I can’t go back. It no longer exists as it used to. So I am here, in a land I have not yet learned to love." Boudika shook her head, as though to shake the very concept from her mind—but it remained, ever persistent, ever there. The place she had loved, so violently, did not exist. It had taken her far too long, and an entire continent, for her to realise what had made it worthy of that sentiment—that it had been, and always would be, the island's depraved nature to condemn and conserve. To remove its ability to condemn was to play god—and that is exactly what her people had done.
Thana’s eyes followed Boudika—followed, and followed, and there was something in them that reminded her of the deep water.
I come from magic.
Boudika felt a breathlessness at the admission, but she was not surprised. The statement merely begged the question—what kind of magic. From the beautifully wrought form of the mare, Boudika could already deduce it had been magic both great and terrible. Her mind drew similarities between this strange, scythed equine and the Khashran—she wanted to ask, does the song of it sing in your bones, as the sea did theirs? Does it call you to act, as though compelled, and fill your dreams with abandon you cannot control? She did not ask, however. Merely continued her pacing, the lethargic flick of her leonine tail—her ears, however, remained attuned to Thana even when her body did not appear to be.
This, this was Boudika’s most severe weakness. Her curiosity. Her desire to understand. Her people were conquerors; destroyers; tamers; hunters. Boudika was all of these things, but invested herself to the art of the cruel hunt. She loved it, and in loving it, she loved the monsters she had hunted with an intimacy no lover could ever know. At last, she had identified the tension as it grew, and grew, and grew. Thana was a monster, an indiscernible creature of magic, something Boudika could never understand. And, as a monster-hunter, Boudika loved her for it.
”Yes.” Boudika’s answer came as quickly as the question had been asked, as though she had been waiting for it. In truth, the response was impulsive, and so were her next actions—Boudika abruptly stopped her pacing, and tore away from the ruby-adorned mare, lunging into a gallop toward the city. Boudika only hoped Thana followed—she did not turn to look.
THICKET OF VIOLET THORN. OYSTER PEARL GONE ROGUE. ALL YOU WANT TO DO IS DANCE OUT OF YOUR SKIN INTO ANOTHER SONG NOT QUIET ABOUT HEROES, BUT STILL A SONG WHERE YOU CAN LIFT THE SPEAR AND SAY YES AS IT FLASHES IN THE SUN.
@Thana
