Luneshale Pass Black moon

All the skies were her’s, and yet, she’d stayed close. And the prince had begun to think of her as his; the omen. A huntress keen of sight, but also of mourning. The death of one thing, but in its place, could be the birth of another.

That night as he fed under moonlight he waved away his servants and laid out a goat hock a fair distance away on a bed of silver shale; a silent invitation for his owl, @Sahara, to dine with him.

had she known of his thoughts and the way he claimed her as his, she would have aimed to claw out those pretty eyes of his. 

but she did not. she knew only of his invitation and of the ripe meat set out on the finest of platters. 

resigned eyes swept the surroundings for any sign of trickery or foul-play before she descended from the empyrean. her gaze beheld his in piercing sight, heart striking at the wall of her chest as she breathed in the aroma of death. 

silent in her study as she danced about the torn flesh, gaze breaking to pluck at the offering laid before her.

He ran his teeth over bone, admiring her as she mutilated her own fare with sharp strikes, ruminating on crimes done by those claws.

“Does it still satisfy the same if not quelled by your own talons?” He asked though not in anticipation of a response, assuming no shared tongue. He wanted to hear her avian voice regardless.

she'd thought him exotic, but he was the same flavor of bland as the rest. a question he asked, just like the others so often did. creatures of feeble-mind and watered-down aroma. 

still, he had laid out an offer without any labor from her own part, which earned him a point above the rest.

"flesh tastes sweeter when laid on a silver platter," she answered with a ravished coo. goat was foreign to her tongue, and she took a moment to relish it's tang before feasting further. 

she tore another slice before lifting her crown to gaze in hushed wonder. 

perhaps the beast's flavor was hidden within, and she need only crack the shell to reveal abundant spice. 

"you summoned me, do tell why." tap, tap, tap, went her beak against his armor.

His owl speaks the wolven language and he wondered who has taught it to her, if she commonly keeps to the company of wolves to pedal visions for the price of a meal or some other amusement.

“You make for pretty company,” he grinned. If she knew he had set aside his shield, she may not have pecked so hard.

“To my people you are an omen of death,” his eyes glittered. “You keep close. Do you wish the end upon me, owl?” He questioned, passing a tongue over his lips, eyes serious but voice tinted with intrigue.

flattery echoed like the clatter of broken fine china. pretty company — odd, considering she was evidently a harbinger of death. 

he questioned his own soul, and she paused from her feast to burn a hole into the metallic orange of his gaze. "do you see your death in my eyes, hound?" 

she would permit him to seek his righteousness or damnation for as long as he beheld her stare. 

life or death — which would he unbury in the truth of her eye?

“A death,” he spoke to the black air and kept his eyes to her’s. Perfectly round and seeing all.

“You’ve kept watch, you must have an idea of the political climate,” he crossed his long dark limbs one over the other gracefully. He gleaned beautifully, as did she. With his nose he made an indication toward the pass, where a whispering wind brought to ear the distant rumblings of the stonewolves. “They act as though there will soon be one.”

“The mortal creature dies. A God does not,” his lips take to an enlivened smile. “Are you devout, owl?”

he grasped her words like a whip on fire, his answer a crack in the dry air.

she paused her feast, a clamorous shrill of amusement echoed from her abdomen. "then perhaps i am not an omen for you, but for your enemies." 

she let the sight of him reflect in her gamboge eyes. enemies, enemies — come seek your death with the winged reaper. 

she stripped yet another piece of flesh from the goat as he questioned her again. she glance down towards the offering, feathers ruffled with bewitchment. no words escaped her, only speechless curiosity. 

what do you think?, her eyes challenged.

“Let it be so,” came his holy writ. He pulled back from the meat and draped himself as if upon a feasting couch to study his company with open interest.

Akashingo was no enemy, it was only together they would build the New Kingdom.

“Would you advocate for destruction, owl? I imagine that would sustain your kind nicely,” his look was pointed. They too were not enemies when each could benefit from the other, indeed a Prince could offer many favors to his counterpart; and a Pharaoh moreso.

“The air is rank with coyote. What can you tell me of their populace here? ”

pupils constricted as he lounge, the bed of royalty no different than the platter she feast on now. 

she wondered for a moment what the flesh of wolf might taste like. rotten and sour, she imagined. 

feathers ruffled as she stepped away from the feast before her, appetite sated.

he spoke of destruction, and she answered with a crooked smile. destruction was favorable when the cities that fell belonged to that of her enemies. 

"devilish beasts with a pretty smile. they'll come to warm your bed just to slit your throat as you sleep."

the toy figurines in her mind took a step closer together.

“Then I had better give them good reason not to,” his eyes swept up over her avian face in dark flirtation. He held them there as he rolled, exposing his soft belly beneath the light of moon, as if inviting her to embed her talons there.

And yet- he knew there was truth to the birdsong, there was much for him to fear. He had no allies in Akashingo, and he wouldn’t- not until he made a son.