He doesn’t need size to wield power.
He needs no weapons, no poisons nor venom to strike fear.
All he needs… is to be himself.
But now he sleeps.
Waiting for the right time.
Waiting for the moment when he can Become himself.
Become the One who will bring nations crumbling down to their knees.
She waits there, on the very edge of consciousness. She waits there, just for you, to step into her domain so she may whisk you away.
She’ll take you to places you can only begin to imagine.
She’ll show you visions of delight and pleasure. Of wishes and hopes and dreams. She’ll show you everything you could have been and everything you should have had.
And she’ll carry you on the strong of her back, while her hooves will churn the soul of the earth and wreck the melody of the waves.
And she will show you what it really means to dream.
And on your longings and regret, she will feed.
There she is. Watch as she hovers in the air, watching and waiting.
There he is. Watch as he sits there, curious and impatient.
She sees him, and falls.
He’s the reason she swoops.
He’s the only thing between her and the ground.
But now she’s back in the air again, with him twisted around her claw.
Both airborne. Both together.
How long will this last?
Before he gives his life for her?
Before she devours him to give life to others?
It was said that he was wise.
It was said that the knowledge of the ages resided in the coded etchings of his plumage, and that with his wide unblinking eyes he could peer past the veils of The Darkness to visit The Past, watch The Present and foresee The Future.
It was said he could tell anyone whatever they wished to know, tell them whatever they asked of him.
It was never told that his knowledge was from their own eyes, from their own thoughts.
From their own souls.
For who indeed really knows?
Who, indeed.
He sits on the edge of the rift, a lone lupine shape in the snowstorm, his grey-silver fur blending with the dark shadows of the falling snow. A single golden eye that stares, nay, glares directly into the soul, his other eye a luminescent opal with a single jagged scar cutting cruelly down the side of his face.
His face is of one who has seen one too many battles. Of one who has survived for far too long.
And yet… lips stretched into a feral grin, daring you to pass.
Daring you to enter his domain. Daring you to do battle with him.
For no one can enter without his consent. His, or his consort’s. And should one even think of doing so…
He will be there.
Watching.
Waiting.
Daring.
