[P] a precipice so delicately posed;

[Raymond]

I'll be a stone, I'll be the hunter,
The tower that casts a shade

***

Raymond had not come for the dusk court. He had come for Calliope and for the sake of his own guarded intrigue, and if his eye could be applied to the swarthy unicorn's diligence to secure Florentine's safety, then he would not object to being useful. But had he been inclined to answer for himself - and in this he was not - he would have explained as much.

All the same, he nodded in agreement with the two mares' observations. He too intended to get the measure of the regimes, as individuals and as units, that he might weigh the information he had acquired against the shadows swirling in their eyes.

"We should trade notes once all is said and done," the red stallion said wryly. Drawing an encircling arc around both mares with a gesture of his bladed tail, he backed out of the meeting with a dutiful bob of his head. "Keep your eyes and ears open, my friends. No one here can be trusted."

He turned and walked away, knowing that they would learn most if they spread their efforts around

***

Raymond
And at his feet they'll cast their golden crowns
When the man comes around.

@Calliope @Shrike | This is shite, sorry, but in his timeline he would at this point have gone off alone and met Florentine for portal times. <3

[Shrike]

Shrike would be at a loss to give voice to her gratitude for this reunion.

She has never been a creature of words, but of deeds and feelings. So she does not think grateful or glad, does not even think of joy. She knows only that her heart had been an empty desert, with moaning winds that kicked sand over any path that might have been – and now it was full. Now the skies were wide and dusky blue and the first stars were appearing, one of them ever brighter than the rest, and that was the one she would always follow.

It is not a safe thing, this star she follows. It is a killing star. But it guides her home nonetheless.

Gods and mortals and monsters – her smile is a grim thing as she looks to her sister, but there is an eagerness there in the tightening around her eyes. What she sees when Calliope looks to the red stallion, what she might think of it – still she gives no sign.

But she relaxes when the black unicorn goes to pacing again, such familiar steps no matter how strange the soil. Her gaze follows her sister, but everything else of her is still, save for the way her mane and tail shivers and twists in the wind from up the mountain. Silently she marks each new scar, new roads cut into a map she’d had memorized.

Dragons and walls, Calliope says, and almost the paint’s lip lifts in a snarl. How many stories went thus into their final chapter? Still she says nothing at the mention of the Dusk Court; she had never drawn others like the unicorn. Her loyalty, any softness she might possess, was reserved for one only.

At last she nods, and echoes that feral smile like a reflection. “Very well,” she says, and falls in just behind Calliope. She flicks an ear at Raymond and watches him take his leave, then shifts her gaze back to the unicorn.

“It is good to see not much has changed,” she says softly, and if there is an but, well, it was only to be expected. The world did not stop turning just because you died.

get your war paint on
let them know we're out for blood