[P] silence like a cancer grows

[Anonymous]

A N O N Y M O U S The din of nature continues to decrease. Mezzo-piano. Piano. Pianissimo. Chittering softens into nothing. It's unnatural, almost a tangible weight that descends. And so it presses down on him, but experience makes him focus his mind, his body, to stay light, fluid... lucid. The two of them - for there are most definitely two of them now - bring the world to a halt, as if hiding from creatures that are hideous and ought not to see the light of day. But that's nothing new. His breathing soft like a whisper, he watches the stranger wander where he had been just moments before. The stallion appears like a Wraith, haggard and drawn. Ribs show through the black hide, made darker by the dim starlight. Anonymous imagines the charcoal beast will continue on, only subconsciously aware that there's something not quite right about his surroundings. But he stops. Has he seen me? It's possible, for Anonymous possesses no powers of invisibility or camouflage. Nothing is a guarantee. But no, the visitor has not seen him, made clear by his spoken words. 'I know you are out there.' Ah. So the gold-plumed stallion is more aware than he'd surmised. Anonymous listens, ears pricked and eyes calculating, as the other continues. Delumine? Ulric? Neither of those names are catalogued in his memory, but he suspects that Delumine is the territory across the softly bubbling creek. As for Ulric... a companion? Someone from a recent interaction, perhaps, if the name came so easily to the stranger's lips. Of course there's the option of remaining in the shadows, of waiting until the unknown stallion passed on, continuing on his way to wherever. But what fun would that be? There's something off about this one. The way he moves, his scent, the hint of panic in his voice. Off. So with barely a hint of his hooves through the grass, he emerges from the cover the trees provided, standing just before them. A ramshackle, pitiful beast before him. Not completely dismantled or disintegrated, but raw and uncared for. A disinterested mask slides onto his face, strangely still as he gives a cursory glance over the stallion. His sultry, deep voice is raspy from disuse, but smoothes. "Hopefully you're not too disappointed to find that you're mistaken." And that's that. The ball changes court. @Only

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