[ They are bound by their decision, to shed one another's blood and flesh before the tree; they had chosen ears, easy enough to hide by the fall of their hair and appropriate for them. They would not be swayed by whispers, not by what they heard or felt. Her convictions are powerful, her mind wild and cold. An ice-bitten woman, harsh and feral as he feels in turn. Their minds and their bodies have been marked, and he rises into her space -- not upon his toes, but as if he has grown to be able to level himself with her lopsided gaze. ]
Good.
[ What he gleans from her mind is monstrosity. A damnable soul that continues her path forward no matter the cost to herself; in a sense, he finds a kindred spirit in this woman. That she bears the body of a mare as well is, remarkably, of no importance to him. The gods of Egypt are born in human shape, in half-human shape, as animals, as the elements. He, too, wears the form of a beast from time to time and she is no more or less for it.
When she seizes him, he is a river of red. The cascade of fresh blood and the clash of weapons, fingers digging into the sands of the desert and voices ragged from crying in pain, anguish, conquest. He is the hands that curl across the backs of her own, the arms that follow the pull of her draw, the eyes that track her kills -- be they her own, or those she chooses anew. Tugging at a long strand of hair with his other hand, the one she has not captured and joined herself too, he rips it free from his head -- a lock of carmine that bleeds at the end, into sands.
That, he tucks into the raven-black silk of her high ponytail. A shock of red against the dark. ]
I am Set, the mightiest of the Ennead. Carry my favor, starless warrior, if you are resolved to this path. You may find me no better than your hated demon, yet I will stand at your side and go to those wretched ends with you for as long as I am able.
no subject
Good.
[ What he gleans from her mind is monstrosity. A damnable soul that continues her path forward no matter the cost to herself; in a sense, he finds a kindred spirit in this woman. That she bears the body of a mare as well is, remarkably, of no importance to him. The gods of Egypt are born in human shape, in half-human shape, as animals, as the elements. He, too, wears the form of a beast from time to time and she is no more or less for it.
When she seizes him, he is a river of red. The cascade of fresh blood and the clash of weapons, fingers digging into the sands of the desert and voices ragged from crying in pain, anguish, conquest. He is the hands that curl across the backs of her own, the arms that follow the pull of her draw, the eyes that track her kills -- be they her own, or those she chooses anew. Tugging at a long strand of hair with his other hand, the one she has not captured and joined herself too, he rips it free from his head -- a lock of carmine that bleeds at the end, into sands.
That, he tucks into the raven-black silk of her high ponytail. A shock of red against the dark. ]
I am Set, the mightiest of the Ennead. Carry my favor, starless warrior, if you are resolved to this path. You may find me no better than your hated demon, yet I will stand at your side and go to those wretched ends with you for as long as I am able.