The seagulls are careening toward the sky in a wild spiral. Vercingtorix recognises a feeding frenzy when he sees one; it starts out at see and with each push-pull of the waves it draws in, in, in, and hits the shore. The seagulls continue to careen wildly, like a children’s top spinning, spinning, spinning—he can hear their cries from where he rests at the junction where the forest meets the sea.
He is somewhere at the end of Viride Forest, at the mouth of the Rapax where the sea gushes in. But he is looking further down the narrow stretch of beach; further, and further, where the rocks give way to the body of some creature he does not recognise. Eventually, Vercingtorix walks toward it. He feels empty—not powerless, but empty—without his old fishing spear. Naked, more vulnerable than he would like. But he retains the most natural of weapons; they weigh at his head, they strengthen his neck, and he feels the way that when he dips head just so they jut forward.
The carcass belongs to a shark. Vercingtorix does not go near enough to disturb the feast; he hangs back, in the shadow of the trees-to-the-beach. He is a figure there, dark and silhouetted against the backdrop of foliage. He waits to see what else the carcass dredges up from the sea; even from here, he can tell the thing that killed the beast had teeth and strength enough to tear chunks through the shark’s thick, primordial scales.
Somewhere far off, he knows the sun is rising. But not here. Not yet. The early morning remains cool and dark, and he appraises the scene as one appraises a hunter’s trap; with mild, morbid curiosity.
Vercingtorix does not know when, exactly, he lost himself. But he has, and it shows in the hard detachment of his turquoise eyes. Once, he would have approached the scene with a squad of other soldiers, if not a platoon. He would have been flanked by infantrymen with their spears poised and ready.
Now, he is alone. The wind tosses his mane into his eyes; and Torix tosses his head, to dislodge the strands from where they obscure his view. The sea shushes up against the shore, and the shark’s blood continues to colour the sand. Torix sees, now, that the kill is still steaming. Still hot in the crisp, autumn air.
I am the daydream, bring you faith and conviction
I am the nightmare you've been crawling through
There is something about early morning kills that gives Lucinda a greater adrenaline rush. It's as if it affirms that her day will be successful and she will gladly take that kind of luck.
Today she finds herself farther north, much farther than she's traveled so far. It's near those who call themselves the Dawn Court, but she has yet to meet any of them up close. So far she's stuck to the sea and its shoreline where she's most comfortable. Quite frankly, all she's heard about this Court hasn't interested her. She knows they have a vast collection in their library, but it all sounds so boring. When she had been a little girl, she enjoyed the stories her mother told her, but that was a long time ago. Times have changed and so have the stories.
She had only stepped away for a moment when the man arrived. Lu watches intently from the shadows of the trees. She can see him inspecting the shark carcass she and Abraxia devoured earlier. His back is turned, so she's not sure of his expression. Given his form, he is likely not another kelpie and is just a man - pity.
Her dragon is somewhere flying ahead as she can feel the closeness of their bond. Lu is not afraid of strangers, so she steps out to approach the man. The faintest hint of the sun can be seen on the horizon and there is barely any color painted in the sky yet. It's truly the very crack of dawn; how fitting of a time here.
"Admiring my kill, I see," she says with a glint in her eye while circling around him. There is pride in her voice too. She's not afraid to show that she is a kelpie and, if anything, flaunts it as much as she can.
Somewhere in the distance, she can hear Abraxia cry out.
"There might be a piece left, if you'd like some," she offers, the corners of her lips curving in a smirk.
He had felt eyes on him, heavy, heavy. Yet, Torix had not turned and does not until she speaks. He is surprised she does not come from the sea but, instead, the deeper forest. When she walks in his direction he can barely discern her figure, only her silhouette. The forest dapples her in a thousand shades of shadows, yet to be vanquished by daybreak, and then she steps from the trees onto the beach. She begins to circle him with the languid power of a large cat, or other predator.
In fact, the gesture is evocative of the shark at Torix’s feet. He does not turn his body to keep her at his front; he only followers her with his eyes. He knows what she is, from the hard lines of her body, from the sinuous way she belongs more to the sea than the earth. There is a prickling at the nape of his neck; the feeling inherent to all creatures when they are faced with a predator.
Yet, the fear is manageable and, what is more, it reinvigorates him. For a moment—brief, ungraspable, necessary—Vercingtorix feels like himself. He feels whole.
Because what is a tiger hunter, without tigers? A fisherman without fish? A big game hunter, without game? Nothing, nothing, nothing. He may be both predator and prey but so, too, is she.
Vercingtorix, despite his long thoughts, does not miss a beat in replying. He smiles a wolf’s smile. “I had to ask myself what would have the nerve to kill a shark.” His tone is almost impressed. “But I prefer to stick to a normal equine diet. Thank you for the invitation.” The site does not make him squeamish. As a cadet he had been charged with feeding captured prisoners of war; and that entailed meet, sometimes entire carcasses, tossed into the slave pits where the Khashran fought over scraps. He once saw a live crow land in the midst of them and, before he could blink, be ripped apart alive by the starving water horses. “I take it that you are from here?”
She looks unlike the horses he is accustomed to, but so do many equines in Novus. She is winged, which he finds contradictory to her clearly being a kelpie. How does she swim? Although he wonders it, he does not ask; merely assessed her with those bright eyes.
I am the daydream, bring you faith and conviction
I am the nightmare you've been crawling through
There is something about the way his eyes follow her that sets a fire inside Lucinda. She's not sure yet if it's similar to anger or attraction or some combination of both. It'll likely depend on how this all plays out. She prefers to be the one in control of a situation, like a predator among prey. If he's watching her with intent to challenge that, then this might turn around rather quickly. Although with the smile now on his face, he sure is easy on the eyes.
His response makes her laugh- it's a kind of wicked laugh at the very heart of it. He almost seems impressed and it makes her wonder if he's either never seen a kelpie before or just not one of their kills. Oh, what a sheltered world that must be. To still be eating a simple diet too, she can hardly remember what that felt like.
"Suit yourself," she says, stopping her circling to stand in front of him. There is a breeze that rolls through and tousles her mane to the side, revealing the scars across her cheek. They are no longer something she's ashamed of and only add to her alluring, albeit menacing appearance. It works in her favor now.
Lucinda happens to notice a few more bites left, so she doesn't hesitate to lean down and help herself while the man asks his question. When she looks back up at him, there is blood on her lips for a moment before she cleans it off. "Yes and no," is all she says at first, wanting to leave him wondering. She considers herself a child of this sea now even though she was not physically born here. Instead, she was reborn into this new version of herself at the very heart of it (by Anandi, but she prefers to leave that detail out). "The lands are not my birth home, but I consider the sea to be."
When she was once flaunting the qualities that make her a kelpie, now she finds herself wanting the man to make that guess. Did he know of her kind? Or would today be a terrible (or wonderful) revelation for him?
"And you?" she asks, more to gather information than genuine curiosity of his story. Although, if he's a good storyteller, maybe he'll manage to grab her attention.
The love Vercingtorix feels for her is nearly inexplicable; the contradiction, the paradox, rips at his soul. But what is the lion without the buffalo, the wolf without the fawn? Does the shark not spasm in sweet ecstasy the moment stretches its jaws to strike a seal? Torix understands this inherent nature, the predator and prey, the way they belong to one another as wholly as an ouroboros belongs to itself. Perhaps there is no separation, not truly. And this is how he loves her; as a foil; a necessity; the separate piece that necessitates his survival.
His purpose.
This is the reason her presence settles him in a way no one else has thus far in Novus. It is a reassurance, whether she intends for it to be or not. See, her eyes seem to say, her bloodied jaws. See, these lands are not so different.
There are still monsters for heroes to fight.
Suit yourself. The roguish charm is so unlike the primordial grace of the Khashran. She goes on to explain further, her connection to this land. The way she phrases, the lands are not my birth home, but I consider the sea to be makes him wonder—
“Were you Made?” His intonation is as heavy as if he were to say God. Khashran could not be Made, in Oresziah. Only Born. But he had been alive long enough to hear the rumours of other water horses, and he finds himself fascinated.
And you?
Torix’s eyes find the shark corpse again. The seagulls are kept at bay, now, by their presence; but they stalk along the peripherals of their encounter, worse than vultures. He almost smiles. “I’m from an island far away from here. But now I’m a voyager, a traveller. I wanted to see if all the myths of magic and monsters were true.” The way he smiles, then, is boyish and nearly, nearly flirtatious. The gleam in his eyes seems to ask, which are you?
I am the daydream, bring you faith and conviction
I am the nightmare you've been crawling through
Were you Made?
The way he says it makes Lucinda grit her teeth. Yes - a reluctant yes. Anandi turned her, chose her, but also in a way made her what she is now. If it hadn't been for their chance meeting, Lu would still be a mere mortal with a broken wing and no purpose on this wretched land. There is a sound like a low growl that rumbles in her throat, like a wolf making a threat. She is not sure if she's directing it at this man or Anandi, who is not physically here.
Despite her drifting thoughts, she does not pause for too long at the man's question. Instead, she answers him with her own. "In a way we all are - aren't we?" They are all thrown into the world to become something from nothing. Predator or prey. Monster or mortal. "From the sea I was reborn. Perhaps in ways you could only imagine."
She can feel it call to her now and she so badly wants to listen to it. Lu could so quickly slip out of this uncomfortable form and stretch out her beautiful tail. She could watch the way her scales might glisten in the light of the rising sun or how it dapples the ocean floor below. It's hard not to listen to its song which so badly wants her to drag the man down the water with her.
For whatever reason, she ignores it. Maybe there is a small part of her that finds this man intriguing. Lucinda isn't sure if she wants to put an end to this just yet.
When he speaks of myths and monsters, she smiles. Does he know this land is full of them too? Is that why he is here today, looking around at the remnants of her kill? "Do you hunt them then? The monsters?" the kelpie asks, her tail flicking a little more aggressively now. She can feel her heart racing, but it's not from fear. It's in eager anticipation.
Let him try. It would make his blood taste even sweeter that way.
In a way we all are—aren’t we? From the sea I was reborn. Perhaps in ways you could only imagine.
I do not let her see it, but the words strike me like flint to steel. The words spark my soul; they speak to me like a dying breath, like the squelching of a blade between wet ribs. Outwardly, a smile flits, butterfly soft and bird quick, across my face.
“I suppose, in one way or another, we are all made.” His Maker had never been a water-horse. His Maker had been war; his fondest teacher, Betrayal. Those things had twisted him; gnarled the once-straight, hotly forged steel of his soul.
Reborn she says, but he cannot help but wonder what must have happened to make her want that. Vercingtorix, with all his self control, cannot keep his eyes from glancing toward the shark’s corpse.
It is at such odds with her supernatural, strange beauty. The grotesqueness of the kill; the call of the sea. She is sharp, and wicked, and he loves her even as he detests her.
“Some of them,” Vercingtorix admits, with a supple shrug of his shoulders. “But I’ve found… well, in a way we all are monsters, aren’t we?” It is as far as his philosophy stretches; as far as he will go to admit that he might not be so different from the things he hunts.
He begins to break away, however. With a respectful nod he says, “Perhaps we’ll meet one another again.” But does not elude to what that meeting would entail. “Enjoy your meal.”
I am the daydream, bring you faith and conviction
I am the nightmare you've been crawling through
Lucinda had never expected for this stranger to speak words that would resonate so much with her. There is something pulling her closer to him that's not like a typical hunger. She isn't sure if she still wants to sink her teeth into him or if she wants something more.
He admits he hunts some monsters and she's so full of wanting to know more. What kind of monsters? How did he hunt them? Has he killed before? Except this last question, she thinks she knows the answer to already. He looks like someone capable of many things.
She finds herself extremely disappointed when he breaks away. It's an abrupt end to what she thought had been only the start of a good conversation. As much as Lu wants to corner him and make him stay, she does not.
"Perhaps we will," is all she says as he leaves. The kelpie takes the last bite of her meal and returns to the sea, but her thoughts remain with what's left of the monster hunter's presence.
