amaroq
Where have all the holy gone?
Is there no one to condemn you?
Is there no one to condemn you?
A
maroq is not Changed. He only is, as he has ever been. As his kind were.And maybe that is what will kill him. Perhaps he never should have come to Novus; perhaps he should have never come back. In the still, silent north, in that world held by ice, the only thing he would have had to adapt to was being alone.
But a wolf does not wonder what it should have done, and a lion does not question whether it should change. Those things are for men only. They only live - and so, too, does the kelpie.
It’s the quiet coves like this one the seals flee to when they hear the orcas calling each other. Amaroq waits for them, languid on the beach, cool in the shadow of the redwoods. He looks like quartz shorn from the jutting cliffs, save for the wave of his hair as pale as foam running up the beach.
Three storm-petrels pass low over the water, swift and dark as their own shadows. An eagle wheels overhead, slowly, before landing in a high fork of one of the trees. The cove is sheltered from the wind, sheltered from the waves, sheltered from the midday summer sun.
Everything is calm, when the black-faced man comes walking along the beach, following Amaroq’s own tracks.
The unicorn watches his approach as calmly as he watched the eagle, as calmly as though he were expected. Yet within his chest his heart is quickening, and his idle hunger turns to something red, and as sharp as his teeth.
It is quiet enough to hear the man’s voice, quiet as it is cast over the water. Still, for a moment the kelpie doesn’t answer - he only begins to move toward Vercingtorix with a slow gait more tiger than horse. The scar on his shoulder does not ache, but he is aware of it all the same.
Only when they are a length apart does he pause. “You are only a ghost to her,” he tells the man, before his lips curl into a snarl, baring his predator’s teeth. The shells and bones in his hair chime warning when he lowers his head, aiming the pale point of his horn toward the stallion’s heart. “And you will be only a corpse to me.”
He does not wait; he only drives forward, and there is no mistaking him for only a horse.
@Vercingtorix | <3
