A breath away from life (ONC2024)

IX. True Desire

Bright scatterings of gold and silver rays fall, dancing over the splaying trees. Their branches, thick with glistening snow as the muted sound of hooves, thunders upon the ground. The roar of the wind picking up, clashing with the sounds of harsh breathing and the thudding of beating hearts. Ahead of us, Sire’s white crow twists almost turning back on herself, as I shorten the reins, half-halting. Cyra’s haunches coiling as she steadies herself in the deeper snow.

My knees hugging the saddle, I urge her on, giving with the reins, feeling as her strides cover the ground. Other riders flitting between the trees, cutting in front and behind, hoping to take the lead. Dreaming, of the white crow leading them to victory, in finding Sire’s gift. Fierce calls of unwavering spirit echo through the air, as sparse screams of anguish break the silence. The sound of horses slipping and landing heavily on the ice and snow, carrying forward. Yet Cyra’s mane and tail flow caught by the breeze, as we twist and turn through the thickening woodland.

Riding out into a wide arc, we leave those beside and behind near Sire’s crow, still flying up ahead of us. The other horses having to halt sharply, sinking deeply into snow, as the drifts hollow into the sunken earth.

Taking the reins in one hand, I run my fingertips over Cyra, feeling her chestnut coat, damp and darkening. The carrying of both Lorne and I, tiring for her, even as Lorne’s embrace remains close, allowing the both of us to ride more lightly. Darkness stretches and writhes alongside the shadows, the silhouettes creating illusions. Yet as the trees begin to thin, those of us still hunting, gradually ride into the deeply undulating hills and valleys. The lakes, frozen by a thin layer of ice, look black beneath the striking moons.

Bringing Cyra back to a steady canter, we carefully skirt the edges of the lakes, our hazy reflection shimmering in their bleakness. Settling into a gentle rhythm, I look up, watching as Kovan’s mistress, Tessa, leads the hunt.

Suddenly the crow glides sharply aside, but as the hunters struggle to follow, Tessa and her gelding round the violent curve with a seamless elegance, as though already divining the crow’s thoughts. Urging Cyra on once more, her flowing strides soon close the distance between us, until we're riding shoulder to shoulder. Her gaze catching mine, an imperious smile greets me, but hidden in the depths of her eyes is a boldness that has little to do with faith or hope.

Sire’s gift will be hers this Luna hunt. Lifting my chin, I subtly scent the air. An aroma of smoky earth lingering as I lower my head, looking away from the hunters. It’s a scent that I know well, the scent of ritual witchcraft. It seems that Tessa has sought unnatural means. I wonder if she is aware of the divine punishment of using such a ritual.

It has been a very long time, since the retribution of Sire has been felt by another. Such forgotten years often hide even the most brutal of memories, turning them into myth and legend.

Half-halting, and giving gently, I loosen the reins as Cyra tosses her head, prancing in the hopes of still leading the hunt, but patiently I soothe her, to the feeling of Lorne leaning forward, his breath brushing my cheek. “Are you admitting defeat to Kovan and his toy?”

Turning to meet him, he glimpses the boldness in my eyes. “I thought that you would know better by now, but that aside, we should leave.” Looking up, I watch as the two moons pale, the sky beginning to lighten. The early morning slowly rising. “The Luna ball, will be far more thrilling than the latter half of this Luna hunt.” Especially now that Tessa, has bestowed me with such a gift.

Lorne follows my gaze. “Kovan will never let you leave in such a way... unless...” His voice trails off knowingly, as I glance back at him.

“Another favour for a favour. How shameless you are.” Laughter flits across his lovely face as I too, smile.