MORPHO Morpho was restless, drawn from sleep when the night was still dark and the stars were still shining above. It was unusually cold for the summer, and she shivered in the shadows, meadow green eyes blinking against the blackness as they focused on her surroundings. She had slept on the ground, burrowed in the tall grasses, with her ears constantly flicking this way and that, picking up the sounds of night around her. As she rose to her feet, Morpho shook away the last remnants of sleep, stretching in the pale moonlight before beginning to walk the now familiar paths toward the east. She was a newcomer here, but had already begun to make sense of the Dusk Court. In her days, she spent time exploring the winding passages through the trees, the craggy seacliffs, and the deepest corners of the swamp. The land suited her, and the lack of structure soothed her as well. In time, the butterfly mare knew that she would need to take on a mantle of responsibility for the herd, but for now, she was simply learning and taking it all in. Her thoughts were racing, never settling as imagination struck a cautious note in her mind. For in the darkness, Morpho knew the demons rested. Though they hadn’t found her here, the nightmares never seemed to cease (and perhaps this is why she was having a hard time sleeping tonight). But despite the chill to the air, the briskness seemed to calm her, and she drew the scent of damp leaves and stone into her lungs as her body pressed onward and deeper into the night. She found him in the fading moonlight – a fearsome beast with tusks and cloven hooves. For a moment, her mind settled on the image of a demon once more – and in that moment, her heart leapt with fear. But there was nothing for Morpho to be afraid of – not here. Gone were her nightmares, chased away by the fascination of the speckled stallion standing in the subtle glow of the rising sun. Curiosity drew her closer, even when her mind cried out for her to be cautious… but Morpho reaches toward him all the same, drawing in his scent – something wild, something untamed. For a moment, the two stand alone in the breaking dawn, and she looks every bit the startled deer. Unsure of what to say, she simply watches the male, green eyes wandering unabashedly over his frame before finding his warrior’s countenance once more. There were stories in the lines on his face, stories she vowed to hear in time. But for now, the sage simply whickers quietly in the silent morning, waiting to see what he would do. |
@Arion
