War-Forged 707: Begin Again

Del’s gaze had been tracking the slow prowl (because despite the greetings, prowl was still the word that best described the Cultist’s movements) of their new “hosts”, and did not immediately react to Astrid’s cry. After all, their name hadn’t been called (and no surprise was it, they thought later, bitterly) and their attention seemed better served on guarding, than jumping at noises.

In the end, though, it was a lack of movement that caught Del’s attention and shifted their wary gaze. Because Alcippe had moved, and then she had frozen. And there was something so fundamentally off, so wrong in that utter stillness that it immediately registered to Ordell. The Scout turned their head, horn glinting in the dull half-light, and they felt their own mouth fall open.

“Ast… Astrid?” they rasped, stupidly. They blinked, several times, and pivoted their entire body around, the prowling strangers temporarily forgotten. Del stumbled forwards a step, only one. So many emotions coursed through Ordell that they felt they might just shatter, might fly apart- but they were a cautious individual. They drew up next to Vidalia, wariness bleeding back into their hazel gaze, replacing some of the shock (and hope, oh, there was also hope).

“How... “ Del asked, faintly, and then again, “how?”

"How heart-warming! You did not mention we were coming to meet your friends, Astrid… For now? All we want is to simply talk. Preferably back at camp, where a fire is waiting for us, yes?"

Ordell’s gaze slid away from Astrid, focusing on the pale mare who had spoken. For now, we, waiting… The words blurred, and Del shook their head minutely. They were too exhausted, too hungry, too heartbroken to think clearly, to make sense of any of… of this. But a fire sounded nice, and they had their clan at their back, and maybe, just maybe, new allies.

Ordell moved towards the fire, though their eyes had slid to Astrid again.

Well, Del wasn’t sure what they had expected. Instead of following them deeper into camp, the rest of the Flanks had stood their ground instead and traded increasingly hostile words with the Cultists who, thankfully, still seemed intent on playing the role of gracious hosts. Ordell paused, swinging their head around to watch as Vidalia (of course it had been her) squared off with her weapon drawn. They were all of them so angry, so broken. So lost.

Ordell stood silently, half-obscured in the rolling mist while rain dripped slowly from their horn and ran down their face. All they could feel was tired. Tired, and alone. ‘Alone’ was of course a well established state of existence for a Scout, and something that more times than not Del had appreciated. So perhaps it was time that they admitted to themself that what they felt was not alone, so much as it was lonely.

Which, Ordell thought as they stood there neither unicorn nor hippocamp, neither with their Clan nor the Cult, neither shrouded by fog nor completely visible, was not new either.

‘Why don’t you show them what we have, Astrid?’

It was the tone more than the words that caught Ordell’s attention. They lifted their head, and watched as Astrid stiffened. She then turned her own head, to look deeper into the camp, towards the fire. Just a small movement, but enough to catch Ordell’s curious eyes as she looked back. Del wasn’t sure, even later, what emotion they read in those familar eyes.

Without making a conscious choice to do so, Del had turned and paced towards the fire, towards the direction of Astrid’s inscrutable gaze.
The Scout looked down, and met the eyes of-

“A child?” they said aloud, confused. Something about the meek, earth-toned foal was wrong, was off.

“A… kirin?” Del breathed. The foal looked away, buried its head under its covers while Del just stared. What could this possibly have to do with Astrid? What was going on?

They should have felt frightened. Frightened, or angry, or even just shocked. There was some surprise, Del mused later. They had not expected Astrid’s… possession, or Digend’s appearance, or the kirin child, or, well, any of what had happened. Yes, there had been surprise. But it had been tempered.

Because when Digend had appeared, when the weight of her regard had settled onto Ordell alone, the hybrid had felt their blood sing. For in that glorious moment that spanned less than the blink of an eye (a microsecond, an eternity) Ordell had felt seen. Understood. Something within them had shifted and clicked into place.

Digend’s attention moved on, and Ordell felt some semblance of normalcy descend upon their body again like a dead-weight, or a splash of water across the face. Their mind cleared, but that sense of divine resonance remained, seeded deep in their bones. In their soul. Only when Digend had departed (in flesh, at least) did Del look back to the child. The War Lord’s child. They looked up slowly, and met Astrid’s gaze. They still didn’t know what they could read in her eyes.

Take them and claim War-Forged in my name.

Del held Astrid’s eyes even as those words played in their head, over and over. A mantra, a rallying cry, a promise.

They had much to discuss, both with Astrid and the rest of the Clan. Overhead the sky rumbled again, and Ordell cast their hazel eyes upwards.

Change was in the air.

"We will not falter," they said, and it too was a promise.