another dusk, another dawn
another game, another god
She sees the smoke of the fire before she sees what it is, what it burns. It makes the horizon glow while its black breath darkens the sky above it. She is familiar with burning; she is burning, all of the things inside her are, and as all burning things she knows this can mean no good. Fires do not start themselves, but until she sees it with her own eyes she cannot know what this really means. She cannot know that the things that are burning are meant for their survival.
Antiope races toward the flames like they are calling her home, like they are singing to the lioness and the fire in her bones. The closer she gets, she can see other equines there—none she recognizes, of the few she’s met—shouting, running. The heat sears across her body as she draws closer, like scorching water does it lap and lap upon her skin, each wave barreling toward her like the ocean. Her eyes are as blue as water but they will do no good as they search the flames.
Two equines are running directly into the fray, grasping bags, and she watches as a bunch of apples falls to the ground, rolling and bouncing away from the flames. Oh, if all they can carry is one bag at a time the food will be doomed regardless of whether there is no time for water to be brought. She steps close to the flames, Feeling them threaten to singe all the hair clinging to her skin. Antiope takes the ribbons in her hair and ties them haphazardly into buns, to stop it from dragging across the floor and then,
And then, the lioness in her bones comes awake. She roars through Antiope’s blood, hungry, hungry. At first, there is nothing to indicate what she is doing, until her eyes begin to change. From sea blue to bright and burning gold do they begin to glow. She knows, oh she knows, that she will not have much time for this. Her magic in this world is not as endless as it once was, but she knows that for the few moments it will last before draining her that she can do the work of all three of them at once.
Eyes glowing like she is a god stepped down from the sky above, Antiope enters the fire. She has few precious minutes for this, so as quick as she can begins to heft bags of grain, of fruits, of anything she can get in her grasp, onto her back. She piles one, two, four and more bags onto her back, as many as she can manage to fit on her small frame.
She might look like she can’t hold it, but she does, her legs faithful like she knows they will be. They do not quiver, she does not bend beneath the unnatural weight, and she carries them out of the flames. She can feel the heat pressing hard against her body, can feel the fire reaching and reaching for the things she carries but she thinks that she will do whatever it takes to douse its greediness. She has felt the lashing of greed before, and this would not be the first time she bested it, as she steps out of the reach of the flames and dumps the bags upon the ground.
She can already feel her magic draining her, threatening to swallow up everything that she is, everything that she has in her veins. The thing of her magic is starving and hungry and it will bleed her dry, but she does not give up, as reckless as it is. So she enters again, and calls to one of the other equines, “I can carry more but I am running out of time, help me,” and she hopes they will, to save as much as they can now while they have the chance. The minutes of her magic are ticking down, quickly.
"Speaking."
Antiope races toward the flames like they are calling her home, like they are singing to the lioness and the fire in her bones. The closer she gets, she can see other equines there—none she recognizes, of the few she’s met—shouting, running. The heat sears across her body as she draws closer, like scorching water does it lap and lap upon her skin, each wave barreling toward her like the ocean. Her eyes are as blue as water but they will do no good as they search the flames.
Two equines are running directly into the fray, grasping bags, and she watches as a bunch of apples falls to the ground, rolling and bouncing away from the flames. Oh, if all they can carry is one bag at a time the food will be doomed regardless of whether there is no time for water to be brought. She steps close to the flames, Feeling them threaten to singe all the hair clinging to her skin. Antiope takes the ribbons in her hair and ties them haphazardly into buns, to stop it from dragging across the floor and then,
And then, the lioness in her bones comes awake. She roars through Antiope’s blood, hungry, hungry. At first, there is nothing to indicate what she is doing, until her eyes begin to change. From sea blue to bright and burning gold do they begin to glow. She knows, oh she knows, that she will not have much time for this. Her magic in this world is not as endless as it once was, but she knows that for the few moments it will last before draining her that she can do the work of all three of them at once.
Eyes glowing like she is a god stepped down from the sky above, Antiope enters the fire. She has few precious minutes for this, so as quick as she can begins to heft bags of grain, of fruits, of anything she can get in her grasp, onto her back. She piles one, two, four and more bags onto her back, as many as she can manage to fit on her small frame.
She might look like she can’t hold it, but she does, her legs faithful like she knows they will be. They do not quiver, she does not bend beneath the unnatural weight, and she carries them out of the flames. She can feel the heat pressing hard against her body, can feel the fire reaching and reaching for the things she carries but she thinks that she will do whatever it takes to douse its greediness. She has felt the lashing of greed before, and this would not be the first time she bested it, as she steps out of the reach of the flames and dumps the bags upon the ground.
She can already feel her magic draining her, threatening to swallow up everything that she is, everything that she has in her veins. The thing of her magic is starving and hungry and it will bleed her dry, but she does not give up, as reckless as it is. So she enters again, and calls to one of the other equines, “I can carry more but I am running out of time, help me,” and she hopes they will, to save as much as they can now while they have the chance. The minutes of her magic are ticking down, quickly.
@Isra @
![[Image: 13716916_Rc8f5hGvZkB3cYP.png]](https://file.toyhou.se/images/13716916_Rc8f5hGvZkB3cYP.png)
a war is calling
the tides are turned
the tides are turned
