Pegs shook rose slowly and shook out his wings. The easiest way to resolve his curiosity was simply to leave his cave and see what- or who- had wandered into his foster-mothers’ domain. But first- he was thirsty.
***
Beautiful Killer had reached the edge of an improbably beautiful little meadow. He felt certain it must be sacred to the muses, for what other right did such a lush, inviting place have to be on the side of a mountain? Looking around uneasily (he could not help but remember that muses, as a general rule, were female) he finally settled himself in between two rocks to eat a few mouthfuls of dried fruit and plan his next move. Sooner or later he would come across the winged horse, and when he did- then what? Fling the golden bridle at it and hope?
Stupid deities, he scowled to himself. Just because they have access to hidden knowledge, they forget that we mere mortals don’t.
He was just starting to wonder if it might not be best to try and find the thing asleep when a rushing sound grabbed his attention. He glanced upward, wondering if Grif had (for some unknown monster-y reason) decided to follow him. What he saw took his breath away.
The creature was larger than Grif had been, but far more slender of limb. Also, it was a shining white to the cat-bird’s tawny gold and brown. Beautiful Killer sucked in a breath and almost choked on a date.
That’s him, he thought, trying (in vain) to cough without noise. And it was. The winged horse banked, circled, and finally came to rest at the edge of a particularly large spring, on the opposite side of the meadow from Beautiful Killer. As he watched, it dipped its head to the flowing water and began to drink.
***
Pegs heard the man approaching. How could he not, with such sensitive ears? But he continued to drink, weighing his options. It was the first time he’d encountered a hero since the day he had killed one, and he was no longer so certain in his response to them. So instead he waited to see what the hero would do, knowing he would temper his actions accordingly. It was probably too much to hope that someone with the determination to track him to his mountain home was anything other than a violent threat, but still…
When he judged the man to be a good three meters away, Peg brought his head up and around to stare him down. What he saw took his breath away.
Long of limb, fair of form, hair and skin shining gold in the sunlight- all these things registered in the back of Peg’s brain. But what truly captured him, what made it impossible for him to move, were the eyes.
His brother’s eyes.
Staring at him, wide with some unnamed emotion, from the face of a filthy hero.
No comments:
Post a Comment