damn the dark,
damn the light...
— Fleetwood Mac, The Chain



Probably some kind of madness. He'd had a friend once who absolutely would have called it demonic possession.

It's funny, he didn't feel possessed. That word implies that there's something present, either something additional, like a parasite, or something that's replaced — displaced? — the original occupant. And what he felt, more than anything else lately, was empty.

There were no warring voices in his head, and he felt as much like himself as he'd ever felt.

He just didn't want anything anymore. He didn't seem to like anything anymore.

Forage turned to dust in his mouth. He could taste the grit in the water, no matter which crystalline streams he sought for drinking. Even the early-summer huckleberries just barely ripe on their brambles tasted dull and flat to him.

He wondered if his years spent in pursuit of his gruesome vendetta had robbed his world of every color, save perhaps the crimson-red of fresh-spilled blood. Gods, help me.

It had been several weeks since he'd finished the job. He'd spent his days lounging in the dappled sunlight beneath shady canopies, like a bronzed lion rather than a horse, and spent his nights travelling north from the free lands.

Moving like a predator, hunting nimble prey under cover of darkness, was going to be a hard habit to break.

But his nights of steady toil had finally brought him to his destination high on the slopes of the Moraine mountains. A part of him fully recognized that by being here he was trying, in vain, to live in the past — what a sad notion. What a sad old brute.

The other part of him hoped desperately that he might regain some sort of feeling, some sort of ardor, some joy for living which had been profoundly lacking in him for only gods knew how long.

The sun had nearly set by the time he saw it.

He'd been following the water, always climbing, and at the same time following memories from such a long time ago he wondered if they were truly his or if he'd dreamed them — and then he saw the steaming hot springs, glistening just upstream between leafy conifers, and it was just as he'd remembered. Crossing that final distance, he seemed to float rather than climb.

When he was young, the rumor was that the water here was kept warm by the fire in the mountain's belly.

Ghazal tested the temperature by slowly dipping his right fore into the largest pool. He tried not to look at his own reflection as he did so. Wouldn't want to spoil the moment.

Perfect.

With a heavy groan the battle-scarred stallion waded forward and sank into the steaming pool. The water here was just high enough to cover his back while he lay with his legs folded beneath him. He could even dip his head and neck under for a moment without too much effort, and he did so almost immediately.

This!

This was life in color, surely.






notes: was taking a hot bath myself and thought he would appreciate one, figured here was the most likely place to find it xD no worries if he's not welcome, i don't mind him getting chased off! also realizing just now both his threads are him in water, maybe this is an unintentional theme lmao
setting: imagining something like this, around dusk, fireflies starting to come out, u kno the vibe

There was peace and clarity in the solitude.

Since she'd settled into her new home in the mountains, Klara had been quite grateful for her king, and his watchful eye. He did a fairly good job at keeping unwelcome guests at bay, leaving the palomino with a certain degree of safety she'd never quite felt before. Granted, the mare wasn't about to completely let her guard down - putting up defensive walls was something she'd been bred and raised to do, and a tough habit that she likely wasn't going to completely let go of no matter what. 

Klara spent her days soaking up the sun, contemplating what she intended to do next. She was seeking purpose for herself, as she trudged alongside the flowing creeks and streams across the Range. The mare had never pictured herself as the sort to simply exist within a herd; she wanted to provide as well, bring forth some sort of useful skill to make her less . . . expendible? Not that she expected her king to simply toss her aside for anything. He was kind, and a gentleman, and he'd given her a great opportunity that she hoped she could repay someday.

On this particular day, the sun-soaking had gotten a little stale. Perhaps she was in need of a change of scenery. Every spanning length of the mountains had yet to be discovered by the mare, and her curiosity continued to drive along a quiet path.

Ah, yes . . . peace was here. It was in the grass that gently bent wherever she set foot, in the cicada songs that graced her ears from trees above. Even the occasional bellowing frog would chime in as lightning bugs gracefully descended around her; Klara indulged herself with deep breaths of mountain air, feeling herself become centered among it all.

Her moment of meditation was quickly interrupted, however, ears quick to pick up on a strange groan, a heavy sigh that the mare certainly did not recognize. It was quickly apparent to her that she wasn't alone, and noticing an incredibly foreign scent in the air, she determined that it was someone unwelcome - or at least, someone foreign. No stranger to, well, strangers, Klara felt it her duty to approach, at the very least to warn of what her king may do should he discover someone making use of his hot springs.

"Who are you?"

timeline: summer, year 1
tagged: hazel
notes: decided to jump in on this! lol
word count: 395

"Who are you?"

The question greeted his ears as he lifted his head from the submersive heat of the pool, water rushing off him as though he were an iceberg calving.

Young was the first impression. Bright was the second, even if that glimmer shone from beneath a veil of level-headed caution.

When he opened his eyes, Ghazal was not disappointed.

Shaking sopping wet hair from his face, the bronze stallion turned his head on the end of his neck to get a better look at her through his solitary functioning eye. Golden-blonde, fresh honey and sunlight.

Delicious. Delectable. Delightful.

A cat-like grin creeped across his scarred lips and settled there. For years he'd harbored an ember of hatred for beauties like this one, especially when they stood so close. The better part of a decade, probably. It was the worst kind of insult, wasn't it? To highlight his disfigurement by the proximity of such unblemished splendor —

— but that was all in the past now; a distant memory of cringe-inducing immaturity from a time in his life when he was, he suspected, still older than the sundrop standing before him now.

And then there'd been the phase where he took a sort of perverse pleasure in giving the fillies a good jump-scare, you know, because if you can't beat 'em you gotta — gotta drag 'em down with you, I guess? Right?

But that was all in the past, the past...

He could already feel the heat of the springs working into his battered muscles, and it was such a luxurious feeling. He was coming into a rather good mood, all things considered.

And he needed information.

"C'n have my name," he replied, his rough voice scraping through the air as a stone dragged along the riverbed. "If you tell me who's king here."

She could feel the uncomfortable shift in air, as though he'd poisoned the water he'd submerged himself in, steam rising and spreading with toxic fumes.

Klara knew to tread cautiously; she could easily spy the scars that plagued his frame, certain in the notion that such things didn't appear out of nowhere. This stallion was one to be engaging, physical even. It frightened her, sure, but in the back of her mind lie a sense of duty and devotion to her King - the same King, it seemed, the stranger was curious about. It didn't surprise her, for it was no secret that a stallion had already laid claim to the mountains - and she supposed, being so far beyond any free territories (not to mention, being so secluded up here), word may not be traveling fast.

Klara had easily determined that he had not been invited here, but the young mare supposed that the very least she could do was give him the information he saught. She had half a mind to simply chase him out, however, his stature easily towered over her's . . . she'd be rendered defenseless in moments. And so the mare would keep her distance, for now, keeping in mind her own capability. 

"His name is Romeo," she replied. She had silently hoped the name would set things straight, but this stallion didn't seem to care to abide by any sort of rule - and certainly not that of a King.

She felt duty-bound to remain there, to not simply retreat to retrieve the stallion - by the time she'd find him, this intruder could have easily put enough distance between himself and the mountains to actually have enjoyed his evening bath. What sort of a message did that send to others, after all? Their precious hiding spots faced reveal, and Klara was determined to keep such from happening.

"I ask again, who are you? And how did you find your way here?"

timeline: summer, year 1
tagged: hazel
notes: lmao he's gonna make her so mad
word count: 322

Romeo...

Interesting.

Ghazal leaned back in the water, resting his bulk against the smooth stones lining the pool. "No need t' ask again, lass, I keep my word," he murmured, looking up at the darkening sky rather than at the little golden lady before him.

So he'd heard truth, then — the Hall of the Mountain King, old man Alonso, had been wrecked through and ransacked a little over a year ago now, and the fucker'd gone and kicked it.

But the eldest little twat hadn't been named Romeo, had he? Ghazal was certain it was something more on-the-nose, like fucking Prince or some shit like that.

Pretentious bunch of fops, so holier-than-thou up here on their high fucking ground, thought the battle-scarred brute. He prob'ly fuckin' deserved it.

Ghazal's hide glimmered burnished bronze, slick and wet. He stirred only a little as he mused, just enough to keep the water moving a little across his flesh as he soaked in the heat of the spring.

He remembered his second- and third-hand brushes with the old king over the years — seemed like a lifetime ago, now. Might as well have been.

If his life were a day, he'd spent nearly the entire morning fighting with someone for someone, and usually not for himself. Now that noon had come and gone, he could look back on those early days and wonder that he was the miserable fuck who made it out alive. Not the old Mountain King, for all his veritable riches and the splendor of his fortress home.

Ghazal had never wanted that kind of life, running people like you're better than they are — but he'd been in the fucker's indirect employ on more than one occasion, and been actively employed against him on more than one occasion, and perhaps it was the heat of the water fogging up his good judgement but Ghazal found it rather satisfying in that moment to think that a nobody like him, an undesirable always running the knife edge between death and poverty, had outlived a monarch.

With a low, bitter chuckle he dipped his head beneath the water again. What you got to fuckin' smile about?

And when he resurfaced, it was gone. He blinked water from his right eye and settled the inky orb on the young mare before him.

"Ghazal," he told her bluntly, "But he won't know my fuckin' name." Hardly anyone did, least of all some babe king who'd likely still been suckling at his dam's teat when Ghazal was crushing skulls beneath his hooves on the order of the sire.

But hey, she'd asked.

And, well —

— who was he to deny a pretty girl what she asked from him?

"Shall I tell you a story, lass?" he continued, sitting up in the water again. His voice was rough, and low, and even with the trace of catlike mischief in the tone, it was not unkind. His one good eye glinted in the darkness as he considered her and second question. "Cost you your name."





notes: OMG weeping ur first sentence made me think of that nasty ass river spirit in spirited away and now i'm just imagining ghazal covered in muck moving thru like the swamp or something like a big mud monster

She saw not a stallion, but a snake - a beast ready to strike with moment's notice.

Klara was growing less and less fond of him being here; she wasn't keen on such idle conversations, while he continued to make use of what was not his own. It seemed words alone could not convince him to move along, and admittedly the mare herself was far less of a threat than she could have been, were she not almost twice as small as he was. At the very least, the mare could take it upon herself to simply monitor the stallion, to be sure he didn't do anything else her King may not appreciate.

She would commit Ghazal to her memory, and be sure to inform Romeo of his visit here.

"My name?" As much as she did not wish to disclose such information, she had gathered sense that he intended to gather what wordy exchanges he so desired from her, one way or another. It was simply another way to continue their conversation, and if Klara intended to keep his attention on such things, and not anything else, she supposed there was very little harm in carrying it on. "Klara."

Curious as to what sort of story the stallion felt need to share, she found herself drawn curiously closer to water's edge. It was there she could get a closer look at him, and as the palomino's eyes spied scarred skin, she felt as though she had fallen into a trap; scarring of such intense nature told the mare that he was not one to go down without a fight. She was nervous, to say the least; felt suffocated by him, coupled with the notion that he could have been just as unpredictable as a serpent's strike . . . Klara was treading on uncertain waters.

" . . . I am sure you have many stories."

timeline: summer, year 1
tagged: hazel
notes: ehehehe
word count: 309