Welcome to Gaia! ::

It was with a bounce and a kick in her steps that Pooka meandered back towards the familiar tangle of trees that was her herdgrounds. That certainly was an experience. She loved encountering new soquili. Every time she did, it was different - due in no small part to the roles that the twisted filly tended to adopt when she did encounter them. Part of the lie she adopted was based on pure whim of the moment - whatever her "creative" mind happened to throw together on the fly. But it was also shaped by the sort of creature she encountered - what they were doing; the mood and aura they projected. Sometimes she sought to impress. Sometimes to terrify. But always to amuse herself.

When her two sets of red eyes lit on the stallion, she immediately was reminded of a great serpent. Pooka enjoyed watching animals - drawing inspiration from their daily struggles. And she often saw features of other animals in soquili she met. Sometimes it might be a cat, such as the other trickster she played with one afternoon. Some of her herdmates even sometimes reminded her of snakes with their glistening scales. But with this one the resemblance was immediate. But this time the snake would not get the best of the hare.

Immediately, a story wove into her mind and she engaged the stallion, spinning a new, wild story. She was not merely a terrestrial mare. Nor merely a soquili at all - no. She was the mysterious, dark side of the moon itself. One can make out a rabbit on the face of the full bright side of the moon, and she was its dark counterpart. A constant struggle, she elaborated. That when the moon was full and visible to those on the earth was when the light rabbit had power. And when it was swallowed up by the dark - that was her time. When the night was its blackest and no sliver of the white of the moon could be seen, that was when SHE Presided over the land. She had lit down to the ground this day, and would have to return to her place once more when the moon rose again in the sky.
She caught his interest, and dug in, playing with him with her words. Teasing him, and almost never stopping in her movements about him. His eyes shone with interest and with greed. He sought a mate to make his family proud of him. To be worthy in their eyes.

Some smalllllll tiny voice in Pooka that she normally drowned out with her musings and games chimed in sympathy. She rarely held the attention of her own dark sire for very long. He was a creature of his own needs, and he was hardly a parent.

And what this stallion suggested - to make strong foals between them - with his twisted blood intermingled with hers, they would do his family proud.

This was an experience Pooka had never had before - and she thirsted for new games, new things she'd never tried before. Though overtly she took his offer with a casualness - she had been gravid before - does the moon not swell on each month?

She accepted his proposal, and experienced something truly new.

The prospect of foals... she had seen her herdmates make them before. And to have a brood that listened to her new playthings truly malleable to whatever she told them? And yet, more like her than any other? It was a novel idea.

So as she wandered in the direction of him, she wondered if the stallion was strong enough to give her what he hoped.

In the meantime... well.. it was Pooka's favorite time of the year. The time that the two-legs busied about in their fields and took in the food for the season. And the perfect time to "play" with them. To gorge herself on the ripe crops.

Perhaps his timing was most fortuitous. A good sign! And she delighted, having many seeds herself planted for the future sewn at the best time of year. Surely, something fun would come from this!

Pooka turned her head this way and that... that way and this as she regarded one of the younglings that had crawled its way from the baskets that she had tucked her offspring into.
Pooka hadn't quite been sure what the whole "mother" experience was going to be like when she signed up for the deal, but that hadn't been it. First off, it had been heavy. And she was tired. All of the time. She could feel them squirming inside of her. Which was entertaining at first. She would whisper stories to herself - or the foals- whichever was listening about squiggly worms and apple seeds growing within. But that had run its course. And then, then there was hurt. Lots of hurt. Boggling the mind hurt. And when it was over and Brother Dearest tucked them away into the baskets she was ready to be done with it all. To yell bile and huff as she lay on her side angry at the world.

Her father had only passed by once during it all. Once. With a curious gleam in his sixeyes. Six was more than four. She knew that. Father was more than she.

He would be back when they could once more be seen, not just tucked away in wicker and darkness.

It wasn't at all like she had pictured. There was no fanfare, no congradulations, no party. They had wandered by in her recovery, to smell or prod curiously the baskets that held new life. She told them stories, each one a different one as they came to pass her by as her strength returned. Most of them knew her well enough to pay them no mind. That was no fun.

Hopefully they would listen to her stories.

Finally they arrived - tore free and came to her. Three. Three boys. Eight eyes all together. Eight was more than six.

He came by again. Her father... AND their father. But that was two separate times. She saw a smile on HIS face. there was often a smile on his face, but it was different. Their herd grew. But then, as soon as the smile passed a growl came and he skulked away as if angry with himself. She didn't see him for a few days. She knew Father and his Projects.

But then the other-father. Their father came. He came and - for a time - he took them from her. He took them to see his parents. Show them off. He was proud. She was... proud?

They were still small. Too small to be fun, anyway.

But they came back to her. Some of them anyway. The white no.. pink.. no...white. The one with the ears like her - it stayed with its father. There were too many to keep track of.

She told them stories. Every day was a new game. She was a new soquili... or monster... or creature. And as the days passed, they played back with her.

Today, she turned to Ichor. The drippy one. The one with her eyes. He stayed the closest to her. He listened, but didn't talk very much.


Ichor watched Pooka with gleaming eyes as he herd her weaver him truthlies. There was already a giggle in his troat as he listened. He was better at listening than talking. Talking was confusing. Putting words together and not slipping out the ichor from his mouth that he was named for.

Laughing. That was easy. It came quick to him. He didn't quite know or understand when it was the right or wrong time to laugh.

A frown tugged at Pooka's wide mouth. That wasn't the funny part. He was... odd. That one. At once both like her and like his father. Pooka knew she wasn't "normal". She didn't want to be normal. But him. He was odd. He didn't seem to fully understand her stories. And that... that was disappointing.

It wasn't like she imagined.

She played with them. They joined her in her games. But... it wasn't the same. there was not the freshness that there was with new faces. Her games were their games. They knew they were games.

Maybe some day they could join them. Maybe when they were bigger. Or not. Taking care of them was tiring. There was some times that, like Anju, she would just wander off to be with herself or whoever she could find to entertain her.

Like her father.

No not like him! She came back. She told them stories. She played with them.

Not like her father.

White and black wings beat furiously, shedding feathers as two mares landed, winded in the center of the clearing of Anju's herd. It was one of the only parts of the herdgrounds that the grasping tangle of trees was open enough to allow a takeoff or landing - and the mares had to know where it was when arriving - let alone at the breakneck speed - to both spot it AND land safely. But neither complained as they touched down, sharing grinning glances. It was just another mark of pride.

For Teumesia, this had been a first. She had never spread mayhem with another before. And it was certainly a much different experience than the flights of whimsy she had often taken. She had seen the brightly colored mare around, but she spent much more of her time away from the herdgrounds than in it. Bored, Teumesia had approached her, sensing perhaps a bit of a kindred spirit. And while she hadn't found a creature all too much like herself, at least she had a sense of adventure, and that was something fun to push.

They had raced, headed deeper in these woods than Teumesia had gone before, and then, after Mixcatl had shown her some kind of ... waterfall or something that she seemed overly impressed with, Teumesia had promised to show her an even BETTER time.

They took to wing, sailing over the trees and to the flat plains which eventually began to be broken up by cultivated land. Teumesia grinned and landed at the edge of a field and began to show Mixcatl HER idea of a good time.


Mixcatl didn't seem to understand it at first as she watched the odd doglike mare begin to tear apart the stalks of corn as if it had caused her some devastating personal grief in the past. With a shrug, however, she tried herself. IT was... kind of enjoyable. Tearing into something with her teeth and hooves. It was like a practice battle. To test her strenth. The thick, fibrous stalks of corn were stronger than they looked. It was just as she was getting into it that she heard the shouts. When she turned to Teumesia as if to inquire, the white mare just flashed her an eager grin and spread her wings with a snap.

"NOW's the fun part." Teumesia barked, and took to the skies, letting the other mare learn by example. She saw, to the mare's credit, that she didn't take long to follow, glancing back in surprise as the two-legs came rushing towards the fields, incited by the damage.

"They're chasing us!" Mixcatl called after her, surprised, and not sure how she felt. Her heart was racing, however, and this was certain a most different adventure than she had experienced before.

Mixcatl only glanced back at her to flash her a knowing grin as they raced each other back home to the twisted grove.

Even as they touched down, safe and untouched, Mixcatl smiled an appreciatory smile at Teumesia. She had battled the slimy things of the wood, stood against cougars before, but to seek danger from the two legs before? That was new. And.... exciting. She loved adventure - and the whole point of that was to do new things - things that set ones heart racing.

Teumesia settled back, leaning against a tree, panting harder than she should have. Before coming to this herd, a little teasing jaunt like that would have barely winded her. What was wrong with her? This mare was normally not the kind that would have taxed her - certainly they had raced each other back home, but Teumesia was a queen of the skies! Speed rivaled by no one! They hadn't even taken a life. What was wrong with her? Had she grown soft...? Fat...?

Fat.

She blinked down at her flanks. They were wider. She knew it. She hadn't kept herself to the rigors of the life she had had before...

* * * *

It wasn't laziness. It wasn't fat. It was something much more insidious. She knew that now. Life grew inside her. She could feel it. The dark stallion had done this to her, and that is why she had been brought here. A recepticle for his young.

She gnashed her teeth, snarling and snapping at any who dared look at her and her freakishly swollen sides.

She was too heavy to fly now, too ungainly to be on her own. She HAD to stay here. Ears pressed against her head as she glared daggers in every direction.



*****
Foals. She was going to have foals. Any day now, so they said. Eventually, she had to let them help. She felt useless, like some invalid too sick to hunt for its own food. But the fact of the matter was she WAS hungry. Starving. And she didn't turn her nose up at the rabbit that Taraxippus brought her, or the boar piglet from Mixcatl.

She would often greet them with a growl, but here, here she saw another reason for them to cling together like this. Even if she felt infuriated that she had to be the recipient of charity. Letting Mixcatl join her on her romp was one thing. It had been enjoyable to share that... but it could also be a liability. What if she couldn't have kept up with her? And if she had, it was less testament to her own ability to outrace - or outfox - her victims. But it was somethin worth trying. Even if all that meant now was thinking about it.

And nowadays she had little else to do but think. She couldn't very well move much.

One afternoon as the sun was dying into the night, Taraxippus stopped by again with a dead pheasant. Once more, she growled at him, offering no words, and then snapped the pheasant before it touched the ground.

"Do not be angry, Teumesia." Taraxippus purred with a calculated care to his voice. "You have come here a beast of strength, and I know that that strength will only be multiplied with the foals that grow within you. Just think... between my father's shadowy blood and yours, what true horrors you will unleash on this land."

"I did not ASK to be broodmare to him. I do not CARE how strong the foals may be. I am strong, and that is all that matters." She growled.

Taraxippus did not appear surprised by her defiance or her rejection. He just siddled closer as he continued. "I have kept my word to you, Teumesia. This grove may be the death of many who wander here, but for you, it is open to as a home. You have shared meals with us, and you know the fierceness and savagry of heart that is sometimes needed.... and sometimes enjoyed. We are kindred spirits you and I... and many of those that call this land home. It is because of US that this land is feared - not the tangled trees and snatching branches. It is because of US that stories are whispered to colts to stay away from these trees. It is because of US that many lie awake quivering, thinking of the monsters that might come from the woods to eat them up. And it is because of US that sometimes... we really do.

Stay here, Teumesia. Raise you foals. See them grow STRONG and make you all the stronger for it. And let us spread this fear. I know you feed upon it as readily as I do. Add your strength and that of you foals to this herd and someday, foals across the lands will quiver, hoping, dreading that one of our herd pluck them from their homes and rend the flesh from their bones." His voice built intensity as he spoke, and Teumesia, despite her cantankerous attitude, found herself listening... considering.


"Well. I'm stuck here till I whelp them." She growled. "After that.... We'll see. " She left the shadow-unicorn with a glare as she turned and tried to get comfortable again.

He painted an ineresting picture. She would have to think on it. After all, she didn't have much else to do except think...

****

By the times the foals had all been expunged from her belly and been tucked hastily into baskets, Teumesia was exhausted. If she wasn't so exhausted, she would have wanted to have visited the pain that she had to endure on Anju's hide. If she even COULD tear into the shadowy flesh - she had met with little success on that their first encounter.

But... still... as she lay back, three baskets filled with life - life from her own flesh.... she felt something that she had never quite felt before. Like pride, like when she gloated over a particularly succulent victory.... but.... different nonetheless.

She lay back, eyes fixed on the three baskets.

She still had time.... the foals had not yet emerged. And she discovered... after all that effort.... she'd have to at least see them.

Taraxippus strode confidently through the twisted herdgrounds with a wide grin stretching his shadowy face. It seemed as if fortune was smiling on his herd. New life was burgeoning in the darkness. Their ranks were growing, and were going to be growing strong. Not just haphazard adoptions like had characterized some of the early additions to the herd - a small usdia that their two-leg used as a messenger. Or that blithe regular stallion that also stuck near the structure. No, their numbers were growing as Taraxippus's plans were coming together.

Mixcatl had returned to the fold. She often came and went, but this time she had come back heavy with foal. At first, she didn't want to talk about it. Mixcatl was embarassed, snappy. But Taraxippus had a way with words. He soothed her, eased her mind. Assured her that there would be others to help raise her foals, just as there were those in the herd to help raise her. And by the way, who was the father? He listened, nodding as she told him of the 'warrior.' He seemed certainly acceptable. And Mixcatl was a fireball - full of energy, full of enthusiasm and he could think of no fiercer, more adventurous soquili. Despite the angeni heritage.

She had come in, and flopped down beside Teumesia, who had been keeping eyes on her baskets. And they had spoken. Taraxippus couldn't be happier. It was one thing for him to tie the members of his herd together - especially the strong ones - the ones like Mixcatl and Teumesia who would themselves make strong members of the herd. But he saw a friendship budding between the mares that he was all the happier to encourage.

Mixcatl had spoken at lengths to Teumesia. And when both of them had started out rather sour-faced, by the end of it, they were laughing like a pair of fillies. They talked about their next adventures... what mischief that they would have... and their foals being raised together... friends... and spreading more mischief. Her attitude began to change...

And eventually.... the white mare that Anju had brought to their fold had had foals - and Taraxippus had siblings. REAL siblings. They were more sane than his younger rabbit-eared sister - granted... SANE may not have been the proper term, but they were smart. Conniving, and perfect. Perhaps TOO perfect. More than one showed the same spart of brilliance that set him apart from many of his other herdmates. That drive that even his father lacked. So he knew just how careful he needed to be in taking a very personal hoof in raising them. To make sure that they understood their role in the herd... both their importance as well as ensuring their loyalty. To assist him in bringing greatness to the herd... and of course himself. Taraxippus could see the long-distance. He was immaculately patient. And he had the vision to see it through. These three could very well be vital. They had the ehterialness of his father and himself. They had Teumesia's all seeing eyes, and two of them even had wings... Anju's projects... his experiments had taken the darker turn that he was positively giddy to see. No longer was he seeing how his shadowy blood tainted the good, but how it could mix with something already strong, already dark, to create creatures truly magnificent.

Taraxippus smirked to himself. He was almost jealous.

And best of all, it seemed as if Teumesia were going to stay. She had a budding friendship with Mixcatl, but more importantly, she seemed to recognize the net that the herd offered. They would help her raise the foals - to watch them when she didn't want to. To teach them... how to be the monsters that they could and allow her to go out, causing mischief, and have somewhere that she could come back to and sleep safely. She always could come and go when she wanted. And as long as she had that, Teumesia had no reason to leave. And, Taraxippus smiled to himself, the longer she stayed then like it or not, the more accustomed she'd become to the herd. She'd get to see her foals grow up, she would have companions... partners in crime... and she began to enjoy having ears to listen to her bragging. When the time came to enact his plans, Taraxippus had grown to know Teumesia and what buttons to push to snag her along. They were adventures. Ways to cause mischief and anger. And a way to prove her superiority.

And the foals... they too would be very useful.
There were three of them. Each one more devious than the next. Each one more horrifying and monstrous and perfect.

There was Proserpina. The one that reminded him the most of himself and his father. Her form was the least corporeal - she was as much shadow as he or his father, flitting into darkness until where she stopped and the darkness started as easily as breathing. But unlike him or his father, her whole coat was covered in red eyes. She could see in every direction without moving her head. And she could stride almost silently on pawed feet. And she was hungry for knowledge - to learn and to plot and to plan. She took to his lessons very well - how to hunt and how to manipulate. How to control. But occasionally, the impatience of her mother would shine through and she would finish off a victim before they were ready. But... still... she was quite a remarkable young filly. Anju had made mention to him that he had even noticed her following him on some of his jaunts. Lurking silently in the shadows to watch him as he engaged his projects.

Next was Legion. A soquili that even sometimes gave the creeps to Taraxippus. He was born off. His wings and his tail resembled heads, and he seemed to regard them as such. All of them followed the same line of vision when he watched something. And the "mouths" moved as he talked... and when he talked, he spoke in plural as if he were more than one being. He was cruel, focused, and deranged, but in the calculating way. He bore wings and Taraxippus was certain that before long he would be flying. He was more distant than the others. He stuck around during his instructions, but wouldl sigh, roll his many eyes and act as if it were a great favor that he had given Taraxippus his attention. But he knew when he was listening. And when he watched him, lurking in the shadows, he saw that he had indeed picked up on his lessons. And Taraxippus was proud that despite having a monsterous appearance as his siblings or herdmates, he did not use it as a crutch. He used his words, getting into the heads of his victims. To drive them mad.

Finally there was Barghest. He had the inky blackness of the shadows themselves, but the wings and tail of his mother. He acted more like a canine than his other siblings, growling and snarling. He loved the meaning of his name that his father had granted him, and he listened to the stories of him and his herdmates like Xibalba - about legend, about Death, and omens. He was fascinated with portents and prophecy. To know the future - to know the unknowable. And to use it to unnerve his victims. To know when tehre would be life and when there would be death. And then, see it through. He likened his wings to Ravens - the minions of Kalona and portents of Death, and he, to the fearsome Barghest. Together, they spelled doom for those he encountered. He had taken a particular fascination in Hepatomancy and haruspex... tearing open his victims and then examining their innards... drawing from the viscera a pronounciation of the future. And then, using that information as the basis for hunting plans for himself and his siblings. Unlike his brother, he enjoyed showing himself to his victims. To startle them and tell them that their death was imminent... And then hunting with his siblings to ensure it happened.

Together, they were an impressive force... each contributing something to the herd. It was more than worth Taraxippus's time to instruct them. Just as he had taught his own foals. And someday... hopefully soon... their territory would expand, the fear of the 'haunted forest' would spread... and there would be more... more that they would have dominion over.

The woods were quiet today. Only the occasional birdcall pierced the quiet of the late winter. The blanket of recently-fallen snow had a silencing effect, stilling the air and muffling the usual snapping twings and rustling leaves. Ice coated the treebranches, stilling their swaying. So the only noise that reached Bloodmoon's pricked ears were his own soft crunching footfalls in the virgin snow.

He lifted his muzzle to the air, closing his amber eyes to see if he could scent out any prey. Hunger clawed at his belly. Winter times were lean times for everyone, but most of all a predator of his size.

With a bitter whuffle, he continued on, senses alert and scanning these familiar woods for any signs of movement or the presence of others.

Bloodmoon had been feeling particularly prideful these past few weeks. The cerynei filly he had initially been stalking as prey had turned into a very different sort of quarry. Something about her drew him to her - it was intoxicating and he couldn't get enough of her. Her scent, her naivete. It both made him feel more soquili again for the first time since he could remember... as well as kept the lupine hunter alive within him. It was a perfect balance.

Little Red had grown heavy with foals not too long after their union - and was utterly confused as to what was happening to her - why she was growing so fat, and not believing Bloodmoon when he explained that he had "wolf pups" in her stomach. That was silly, she thought - how would they have gotten there? Cerynei didn't eat wolves - usually it was the other way around.

But time passed, and she grew heavier, and eventually, Bloodmoon snuck close to the village to steal baskets to keep his offspring safe and protected.



After the young foals were born, pale and featureless into their baskets, all seemed to be Normal at first. They slowly took on the colors and markings of the foals, and all seemed fair.

Then one night twisted creatures were discovered, crawling weakly onto the baskets for warmth, their mouths twisted into permenant twisted smirks, their breath raspy and labored, small, tattered wings useless for flight, instead making a rustling noise whenever they moved.

They proved to be difficult to move without harming the baskets, and in their labored hissing breaths they whispered raspy secrets to those who would listen, fortunes of the children they guarded.


Bloodmoon snorted suspiciously at the creatures that latched themselves onto the baskets that guarded his offspring, unable to dislodge them... though they did not seem to be bringing harm to them... Still, as he listened closely, he could make out words....?


Come daybreak, each and every one of the creeping creatures collapsed, becoming little more that leaf litter, having never been living creatures to begin with and blew away without a trace, the Spirits of the Twisted tunnel no longer needing the creatures to guard the baskets as they worked their mischief.

The first creature wheezed as it cackled, glowing eyes empty and hallow, "..Lisssten.. hssk... Lisssten now. The woodsssman comesss... Woodsssman fallss..." it shuddered as if in pain and repeated itself, cackling softly as it did.

The center one hissed sharply, rustling its wings as its claws flexed, its voice raw and dry compared to the other, "Paint the pelt, paint the bones." It swatted at the wolf-like stallion, hissing and speaking in a grating, alien language, the stallion having moved too close for comfort. It seemed disinterested in sharing any more after that

"Hssk. Hold yourself high.." The third one chuckled softly, its empty eyes blank as it looked into the distance, "Bury it deep....."