A whisper of wind, merely a breath, then silence. The green warrior stalked cautiously amongst the wild blue roses on that populated the world of one's imagination, navigating his body amongst long sinuous stems of the plant, perfectly invisible was he through the depths of oceanic blue and the forest green shadows. The one part visible being the gleaming gold helmet the enigma wore on his head that bound his curse to him, and him to his own faults. He could only hope the shadows of the broad leaves would prevent the sunlight from laying a single ray on his mantle. He needed to be invisible, intangible, nonexistent. He slithered forward a bit more, the fine soil soft and giving under his wickedly clawed hooves, the better to dismember his target. His view was perfect; the young feathered wolfen creature lounging in the ebonsage clearing would make a fine meal, fit for a king, or even a prince turned savage... His ear twitched at the memory, but he tried to treat it as only and nothing but. A memory. That's not who he was, not anymore. Never was. He pushed the thought to the back of his mind for mulling over later in the day when he wasn't fighting for his next meal for seven days. He eyed over the bird-wolf: young, perhaps to be a lot of trouble to take down, but the meat would be healthy. A shame really, to prey upon such beautiful creatures, but there was nothing he could have done. He hunkered down a bit, and lurched forth from under the xenobotanics, taking the wolf lad by surprise as the lad leapt up into twisted tree, and sprang off, our chartreuse warrior in hot pursuit. The archeopteric wolf instinctively headed for his clan's den, a large uprooted tree that bridged and tented a deep cave. This did not shake him. He dove in after the wolf, unabated by the defense the clan could possibly and most likely raise. The pair barreled through the darkness of the cool cave, the victim cawing out for his kindred to assist him, the attacker in the trance of battle. The darkness afflicted neither for both were of species akin to darkness, the wolf could see brighter than some creatures, but the green one still retained the advantage having eyes that could pierce any shadow. The end of the cave drew to an disappointing end as the pursued found itself backed into the wall, the green quadruped aiming a blunt golden horn at this heart. The sight was terrifying, but clan members began to emerge from the offshoots of the cave and block the assailant's path of exit. This green warrior paid them no attention, their threat didn't seem to sink in, but they realized all to late why. The creature reared it's golden helmed head back, the gold flung momentarily from his face, the darkness hiding a face that Medusa would crumble into dust they way her own victims have. Fangs launched forth from the angry darkness of the helmet's shadow, a thousand tiny knives contorting and wrapping around the young feathered wolf. The various incisors and couplings and groups thereof, tore through the flesh, ripping through the body itself, killing it instantly. Large tusks seemed to materialize from the depths of the shadow, coiling around the inanimate prey and then solidifying to carry the carcass. The green one turned around, facing the kindred that had once threatened him for the intrusion, but now cowered at the site of him, peering at him from the darker of the corners with fear stricken eyes. His own eyes shown bright with the embers of rage past, a glowing soft color, the only light in the cave. He stepped forth with one clawed hoof, holding his head up and the kill lay on his tusks, the numerous fangs and bone in a crown like formation before his shadowed face. It was a challenge, demanding them the respect a creature such as he deserves. Non accepted, and he was grateful. There would be no more bloodshed by his claws for another seven or so days... --- The sunset low, the red alien birds of the green one's paradise flocked to their nests in the gnarled fruit trees and low hills to the east. The warrior feasted upon his kill, contemplating the events and happenings of days gone by and the day just gone past. His gaze flooded over the rich jungle from his view point at the top of the small mountain, his den: a cozy little mangle of vines and soft vegetation, also a place for the things he held precious, like his old pocket watch, an old map of his former kingdom, the brooch of his former love, and various other trinkets he couldn't use or a creature such as he has no use for. He wasn't that anymore... He was once very human, perhaps too human. A young son of the wealthy king of the realm, he was the troublesome illegitimate child of the family. He was never one for thinking things through or decency, and no one cared for he would never be king, so he was always left to his own devices. One day the brat angered a powerful and very unfeeling sorceress of the jungle, and an angry curse befell him from which there was no escape. She mangled his body into a form no one could recognize: the general form of a horse, a mean horn of which the closest comparison is a unicorn's, clawed hooves more menacing than a dragons, and a head that cannot be described in any mortal tongue. However, after this atrocity was dealt, the sorceress's sister took as much pity on him as she could spare since her power was not as strong as that of her sibling sorceress, giving him a helmet to protector just hide) his face, a bastard sword fitted to his clawed hooves should he face adversaries such as a man and need escape, and the ability to walk upon hind legs without the difficulty any normal horse shape creature would normally have doing so. He longed for death, but was damned to only cause it... Such wrath as he was capable of bringing he wanted removed from himself. "If only I could unbind my name from the shame I've brought to it," he thought. "If only this damnation could be lifted... how could I repent? What would earn me the right of walking a man... or anything... and not a monster?" The eyes of his kill glared accusingly at him, crying out for retribution, though there was no more life force to avenge. "What do you want from me?" he thought vengefully. "You didn't ask for this, but neither did I. Nothing's fair..." He immediately felt appalled at himself for thinking so angrily, even more so that he was thinking as if this dead wolf were still alive. He heaved a long sigh, and lay his head down on the ground, slightly closing his eyes. "But I can give you this..." he thought. "I'll watch over your kindred and prevent whatever predators they may pass from taking another of them..." He drifted into troublesome sleep soon after, thinking of what could possibly save him from the form he now possesses, or what could save his soul from going straight to hell. He wondered if there would ever be a day that he would be proud to tell the other animals his name, when the other creatures of the jungle wouldn't fear the former prince, when he could say, without anger or death or ramification or fear, "My name is... Saga." ~Thrivis Tundra. December 1, 2002.