he arrives as they are discussing death, revenge. his ears tick at the words, his blood sings from flightless heels and a budding black heart, teemed with all manner of unsolicited violence. his flesh is riled with it. it moves with it. heat rises from him like smoke, like fog over the forests in the summer eve – as he rises, just lightly. just tenderly, so ethereal to consider a beast like him. a name catches him in the dark and he merely listens, hovering just beyond their reach, patient and willingly silent. the not-moonlight licks the dew from his hide, jaded emeralds scattering their shade across his wraith flesh; virile, smooth, accentuated with predatory angles that sharpen as he waits. raum, they say. death, they say. a glimmer of execution gleams in one's eye, vengeance storms the proceeding like the hum that fills his mind.
disgust suddenly settles at the pit of his stomach.
they speak of the denocte villain – the solterran king – as if he is their prize, their objective. some bloody head on a silver platter their hungry jaws savor in memory. erasmus casts his gaze upon the starfaded male, his resolute expression, his valiance. how handsome, how brave, how – his tongue curls back in his mouth,a sneer rippling across his lips as he recounts his brief time in the day court. raum had secured his successions through blood and strife – was this not the way of the world? were the crimes committed not fair acts of war? did this commune consider themselves judge and jury, to seek out the throats of those they deem unfit to rule? erasmus twitched a fly from his shoulder, the beetle-wing buzz still a tone in his ear. the not-moonlight shifts behind him as a breeze weaves through the trees and feels like static sparking.
a voice rings from their congregation and he recognizes it like a familiar sting – it is pure wealth, a hidden power, too like the rush of ocean waves on a shore of scuttling diamonds. sharp, hungry, and virtuous. the tinge of famishment is something he can finally associate with, but he is set apart from its intentions. his eyes raze the crowd for the lofty horn of the denoctian sovereign, narrowing over golden rinds of speculative glow. his lips grew rigid, tightening over fangs that grazed the flesh with trepidation. she comes to their center like the leader of a pack, a ward of vindictive cruelty that swarms and eats at her craving for peace. erasmus loathes the combination. he is smothered by the ironic air of her fury. at once he feels like speaking, like screaming – the roar scrapes and rattles up and down his throat like a drum, but he bites it back as the sea parts for dragon wings.
erasmus is disenchanted by the moment. he is jaded, exhausted, as he looks over the crowd, each face blurring with the next. some disperse in groups, others fading into the darkness of the jungle they do not know. there are the flutter of bird feathers, of dragon wings, of damp hoofbeats that wither to nothing, washed by the waves that crash against the bridge. and the hum, the low tone that fills his ears still – quieter here but true and full, taking residence in his bones. all fade but the stark eyes of a villainous vulture – looming precariously over a cloaked figure that stands at the brink of their group. he pays no mind to the mare but to the bird, to the raptor, to whatever it is, those cold cruel eyes that watch and laugh with a violent mirth.
the starlight stallion speaks again – and the venom at the pit of his throat churns once more, his sneer remembering its place, taking precedence over the grin that met the vulture. he speaks with diplomacy and assurance – as if they were at threat of the wilds that persisted the jungle dark. as if they were at the threat of raum. and perhaps they were, as curiosity meets vicious ends too often, perhaps they had a reason to fear him. erasmus turned his eyes to isra again, seeing how she swelled with a valiant and decided perseverence. a woman and a sword. a woman and her dragon. he did not care if she saw him lingering in the dark of the forest thickets, the viridescent shadows glimmering over his marbled silhouette in waves.
