EtoilesMorthaunt

The goaler's face turned to the sky, his eyes closed as he listened. Above him, the heavens glimmered with the light of a billion stars that cast glittering bits upon his massive horns and and faceted tail, reflecting the purple hued curtain that arched above him. Yet, he saw none of it.


Once, he had been a star, shining bright amongst the others with him.
He was born to the Gaoler Clan, his Sire a High Ranking Warrior, and his Dame, a fierce Huntress of the Shade. As such, great things were expected of him. It was his duty to follow in their huge pawprints, to serve the Icewarden, and to protect those weaker and more frail than himself. From a hatchling, he learned to fight, learned to protect, learned what was expected of him. His midnight black furr was the symbol of his family clan: defeat the Shade always. He was good at it. The training, the fighting, the acceptance of who and what he would become. Among all others his age, he shone like a rising star, destined to serve as none had before him.

Yet he was not like the others. Somewhere in his ancestry had been a maverick. Their mark manifest in him with a swath of brilliant pink for his mane and on his wings. However, even at a young age, other younglings had never teased or bullied him for it. Always he held himself with strength, with determination. He would let no one define his destiny. He would define himself.

But there was one, a hatch-mate, born at the same time as he.
She was different.
His pink mane fascinated her, and she'd run her claws through it, smiling as she did so. Her family was not of the Old Guard Gaolers, but she began training, just as he did, at a young age. She, also, learned to fight, to evade, to protect, though she never took to it as he did. Often tymes, he would practice extra with her, wanting for her to experience that moment, as he had, when the training, the desire, the responsibility all merged to bring forth the calm, the certainty, the acceptance of their calling.

Yet, no matter what he did, it seemed to make no difference. She was quite often distracted, her thoughts never on the training but skittering elsewhere. While Gaolers as a whole stood in distain of frippery and color, preferring the solemn colors that reflected the seriousness of their work, she was drawn to color, to the outside world, to that which was different. She would weave brightly colored feathers in her mane, or escape to spend an afternoon laying in a field of flowers. When he talked with her, tried to understand, it was as if they spoke a different language, one they kept trying to teach the other.

Until the night she cajoled him onto sneaking out of the cave dens to go lay out and look to the stars above him. At first, he was agitated; he did not understand what she wanted of him. But then she began to point out the constellations, making up stories to go with them. Rather than the dark black of his furr, he realized that the night sky shimmered with a myriad of purples and blues. And when he closed his eyes . . . . . he could hear the stars speak to him. Not with words or even with sounds that he could recognize. Something . . . lilting . . . called to him.

Opening his eyes to the present moment, EtoilesMorthaunt grinned remembering.

When LaBella decided that she would leave the Wardens, strike out to make her own unique place in the world, there was no question that he would join her. Not only had their love grown over the years, but she has shown him there was more in Life than he had ever dreamed of. She taught him of music and of beauty. They left with the Blessing of her parents. His would never understand.