from the mind of Chaos’s lonely daughter
and the sun fell heavy and thick
to warm the blood of a world"
There has always been a difference between rage, and want, and chaos. She knows it well. As well as she knows the ways across the dune and the tunnel below the canyons. But looking at the mare, with her hunting hound of a dragon, she wonders if the knowing is curse or blessing. How easy it would be to snarl, and snap her wings, and spit fury instead of cleverness.
Amaunet laughs at the warning as all children of war and chaos do. Davke have been hunted and chased for years. And yet here she is, laughing at the girl and her hound like a fox who knows a million dens waiting in the dark forest. Hexes are for the weapons, not the hunters and not the foxes. Even the stars around her, the constellations and the caught moons, seem pale beneath the unashamed glory of her laugh.
How lonely to be so angry, so monstrous that dragons settle like pets beneath the horrible truth.
She wants to tell the mare that she'll burn out before the stars with all the things living black as oil where a bloody heart should be. She wants to tell her that heavy things belong in the sea and not in the sky.
She wants to stay a million things are the mare turns with her hound to leave.
But nothing comes out, not when the stars fall from her wings and land in snowy piles of ash on the glass floor. She only watches her go, that strange and knowing smile on her face, and lands upon the glass and stones. And she starts to run, wings spread wide as the horizon, just to hear the sound.
It sounds like music, and war, and a pride of lions running around the darkness.
@Lucinda
