Desreal: is what you abandoned*

The vines coil and lash around the stallion and mare, almost in a dreamlike state as they climb sinuously across the planes of their separate bodies. His head is bowed towards his master, dark eyes glazed as he stares at her, flanks still heaving from his run. And then it happens. The wind shifts, ever so slightly, and brings an old scent to him, one as familiar as his own, if not more so. He tries to ignore it, passing it off as the past trying to haunt him, trying to draw him away from his master, but it grows stronger before fading away as the wind shifts yet again. A sigh is released from his muzzle, and his eyes flicker shut for a moment, the pull of the Shard and the Song luring him towards the bliss of stupor. But his Earth is awake, and it senses the passing of another through the forest. The grass keens as delicate hooves press upon it, the trees sigh as the creature passes beneath and through their boughs, and he knows they are not alone. He knows she has come back.

The noble face is lifted, and he looks towards where he knows she will be, almost expecting her to disappear the moment he sees her. But she doesn’t, and she is real. And for once, he does not immediately rush to her side. A part of him would love nothing more than to go to Aitvaras, to touch her perfect skin, stare into her eyes and just be normal again. Not have these elements, this slavery to pull him down and away from her, and just be free to roam the world again, like they had been doing for most of their lives. His eyes clear as he stares at the silver mare, and he moves away from Saphira for a moment, his mind finally unlocking the door to his old self.

“Aitvaras....”

The vines try to hold him to Saphira, but he is their master, not her, and they snap and twist as he pulls away from the overo mare, recoiling themselves around his hocks and flanks as he moves towards Aitvaras. He does not go to touch her, no they have become too distant for that, but he stands staring at her all the same, dark eyes peering from beneath his forelock. She has not changed, not like he has. It angers him, that she should remain perfect and ethereal, while he has become a degraded wraith of his once noble self. The anger roils within, bubbling over at the seams, pulling hard granite from the earth to creep up over his flanks in patches, a second skin before it flakes off as the vines take over his body, slithering towards the mare with barely leashed violence, curling around her fetlocks before snaking their way up her legs.

“Why are you here? Why have you returned?” The voice is the same deep baritone, but it is harsh, biting, just like it had been the night he found her with Lestat. The vines tighten around her forelegs, sprouting thorns here and there to bite her skin.

You are right; you do not understand him, not anymore. He is broken beyond repair, and he is no longer the noble beast that you once knew. He has been taken by the Shard, but he was gone long before that. He died the night he found you in the desert with your vampire, and he is only now coming into his own. Saphira is forgotten for the moment, the need for revenge too strong to hold him to her. She may call him back at any moment, but he somehow doubts that she will.

centurion
earth III; air I
tainted