SG-Phantom

Two armored rexals sat side by side on the banks of a wide river, dappled sunlight dancing across the rippling water and throwing elaborate patterns over their scales. The day was gorgeous, but the gray and white rexal fussing over his line hardly seemed to notice. Kaeneus tested the sharpness of his hook, fussed over how tightly the bundle of red thread was looped around where it joined with the line, and carefully waxed the two feathers that stuck out of the thread in a crude approximation of an insect in flight. This was nothing the brown and tan rexal beside him had not seen before as he prepared his own line, but he paused every so often to glance at the large book splayed open at his side. Buggius Catchus was not above hard work in the slightest, but he was fishing for more than fish today, if he could just encourage his taciturn companion to speak up. “You mentioned your grandfather taught you how to tie a lure?” Buggius prodded gently, nudging over an earthenware jug of wine

Fall had come to Hreindyralogo. The deciduous trees had crowned themselves in a riot of red and gold and orange, some of the leaves already dropping to blanket the small village in thick carpets of color. Valaeryn had already made noise about making wreaths and other decorations for their home in the village, and so Kenan was quite surprised when his mate interrupted his brooding in the wide courtyard of their riverside home, and didn’t have her arms full of bundles of leaves with the intent of turning them into some craft project. “Maybe I’m missing something,” Valaeryn chided, hands on her waist as she regarded her mate with an expression that was trying very hard to be stern and falling just short of the mark, “but you certainly don’t look like someone who is getting ready for the party tonight. You know, the party the whole village is preparing for, making food, decorations, that sort of thing?” And it was true that he had promised Valaeryn he would go. Had, in fact, been roped

Sularis breathed in the cool night air, closing his eyes for just a moment to drink in the night. It really was beautiful: the false moon the Elders hung in the sky gilt the red-orange autumn leaves in silver, and the gentle mist between the trees beckoned him deeper into the woods. Overhead false stars twinkled enticingly, occasionally broken up as bats winged overhead, chirping to each other in what Sularis liked to imagine were little apologies for constantly bumping into each other. The cool autumn night was peaceful, perfect, and unfortunately, about to be broken. He saw the white patch on the other rexal’s throat before he saw the rest of her, purple scales blending into the mist-clad forest except where the moon kissed the edges in silver light. He actually heard her before even that, paws thundering on the leaf-strewn ground and breath sawing in the mist, and barely had time to note the white patch and her coloring before the mysterious female slammed bodily into him, bowling

Kenan’s fur prickled in warning. If he was a better hunter or tracker, or honestly just at all observant, maybe he would have known what was wrong at just a glance or a single sound, but he didn’t. Kenan was a researcher, so buried in his books and scrolls that sometimes he barely remembered what color the sky was sometimes. He was cognizant enough to realize something was wrong, but he couldn’t put a finger on exactly what was wrong. The sun was shining, a few wispy clouds scudded lazily across the sky, birds were singing. It was a perfect, idyllic day, the kind of day perfect for a picnic or just lying in the warm grass and soaking up the sun. So why did he feel like something was very, very wrong? The flash of gray and auburn was a warning, and truthfully Kenan was still trying to puzzle out how it was different from gray bark and auburn leaves when the cervine appeared almost like a spirit. Muscular, strong, and with an odd golden pendant around his neck, the strange cervine’s

Patrolling the relatively safe streets of Atlas meant that most of Kaeneus’ time was spent listening to local gossip, and there was one name that seemed to be everywhere these days: Arsenios. At first he ignored it; Kaeneus was a practical rexal, and his work as a soldier and city guard didn’t leave a lot of room for prettying himself up. He didn’t have interest in paints and powders or scale trimming or whatever other services the near-fabled Arsenios was able to accomplish, and he didn’t have fur to clip or style. Those factors made the gossip easy to ignore at first. But then it seemed like Arsenios’ name was everywhere, and whether Kaeneus was interested in fashion or not, it seemed fashion was determined to find him. Even the other soldiers started talking about the stylist, rexals Kaeneus could have sworn wouldn’t care about that sort of thing. It was like a madness sweeping the city, and as much as Kaeneus wanted to resist, he somehow found himself walking down a surprisingly

Four equine centaurs carefully picked their way across a game trail that Valaeryn was quite certain Arcturus was making up half the time. Not…that the taciturn Arcturus seemed overly given to leading their little fishing party astray as a practical joke, but still. Valaeryn dropped back a few steps behind Espen, the fourth member of their party, and pulled up next to her mate and elbowed him to get his attention. You had to with Kenan; the man had his nose in a book half the time and was lost in his thoughts the rest. Her love was many things but observant he was not. Once Kenan had bemusedly looked up, eyebrows drawn as he opened his mouth to complain, Valaeryn shushed more than his insulted “Ow!” with a wave of her hand. “Hush, I didn’t hit you that hard,” she countered before he even complained. Then she dropped her voice into a whisper. “Are you sure this is a good idea? Arcturus could be taking us anywhere and we’d never know! Do you even know the way back to the village?” By

Snowstorms came often in the north, bathing the forest white. The falling snow restricted visibility and the thick blanket of it muffled the world. Everything was hushed and calm as the furious wind died to a breeze and a scatter of flakes, and the soft, wide wings of the North Tribe’s niatkar made no sound as she swooped between the trees, as silent as a spirit. Though the role of the tribe’s niatkar was to provide wisdom and leadership, Birch had to admit there was something so much more freeing about this, about being on the wing, on the hunt, a gray ghost whose passage was marked only by the swirl of snow in her wake. The tribe depended on her to lead, to provide, and with winter nipping at their tails it was time to lead on the hunt rather than in council. The North sheltered their people, kept them safe from encroaching humans, but the land was harsh and little grew there in the winter months. The tribe relied heavily on game to survive, hunting the creatures of the forest for

The boy was a slip of a thing, wide soft wings twitching behind his back as he watched Caronte with wide blue eyes. He hadn’t spoken to the blacksmith since he started coming around, hadn’t even come inside the forge proper, but neither had he been scared off by the blacksmith’s boisterous personality, so that was a start. Still, the boy was skittish and his clothes ragged; probably an orphan of some kind. He startled easily if Caronte noticed him too hard. It was a little like luring a wild animal, Caronte mused as the slender boy peered owlishly around one of the pillars supporting his roof. He could leave offerings of food, metaphorically speaking, but the boy was slow to accept and would never take them when he offered. Actually, it occurred to Caronte that he had never offered food, and maybe that would finally get his little stray to let down his guard. Slowly, so he didn’t startle the young teen, Caronte laid aside his hammer and his current project, stretched and laid his

Kyrios regarded the young colt in front of him thoughtfully. The dusty yellow and red equine was young, not quite yet grown into his long legs, and Kyrios could see a few burrs in the young equine’s tail. The young equine had made an effort to groom himself, but his back end was neglected, his long hair messily tied back with hands clearly unused to styling his own hair. “I’m told you asked for me by name,” Kyrios finally began, keeping his voice gentle. “Here I am. Where is your herd, child? Your parents?” The colt’s lower lip trembled, red eyes watered, and he looked away as his arms slid around his narrow ribs. Ah. That explained the poorly brushed hair and tail, and what such a young centaur was doing on his doorstep alone. Why the young equine had made the journey to seek shelter at Kyrios’ library he didn’t know, but the colt looked travel-weary and hungry, and those were pains the master researcher could fix at least. Once the boy had a good meal in him and some rest