If she was looking for some sign of Ravos, or of the Rift - feral magic, the kind with teeth, the kind with sickness on its breath, the kind that needed killing - there was no sign of it here.
There was something like disappointment that flickered in her dark eyes as the mushrooms and moss faded away to nothing, leaving not even their pungent scent behind. Still she walked on as the walls crumbled back to nothing but leaves and twisting branches, as overhead the bewitched sky gave way to the real one. The true stars seemed dimmer by comparison.
When the path led her to the center, when in the center waited Isra, there was no surprise to show across the paint’s expression. She said nothing, only leveled her gaze at the unicorn. Only when the horned stallion arrived did she shift her attention, passing a cursory glance over him before looking back to the Night Queen.
It was a lovely story, well told - as all the unicorn’s were. But Shrike was a thing of deeds, not words, and the tension does not leave her shoulders as Isra turns each ribbon to colors. She is glad the maze is nearly done; already her mind is wandering the plains, thinking of another unicorn, one she better understood.
She only hesitated a moment when Isra bid them choose, and waited until she turned away to step forward.
It is a black creature she thought of, and a black magic she hunted, and a black ribbon she chose.
-Shrike chooses the first ribbon
don't do much these days
keep the wolves at bay
keep the wolves at bay
