Burgiethewriter

Ever since that fateful day in Puck’s weird little cafe, with the Star Touched Ballator and Ares, Eris had been at first worried and then increasingly suspicious about her relative. “Stop staring at her,” said Maelstrom, lowering his head to speak to his sister. “I know she’s my kid, but she’s not that ugly.” “Luckily, she inherited her mother’s dashing good looks,” said Eris easily. Maelstrom shoved her with his side, Eris squealing and almost toppling over. But she shoved him back, not that her smaller build could do much to a full-grown Asiatic stallion. “Ha,” said Maelstrom, sticking his tongue out at her. “But seriously, why do you keep staring at her? She’s your…” he paused for a moment, trying to figure out the logistics. “...niece?” “Look, do you remember that time I went to Puck’s cafe a while ago before the whole shitshow with the Red Star happened?” Eris asked. “Ugh, how could I forget, it was a great time and nobody thought to invite me,” said Maelstrom. Eris shot him

One thing that Hannah had immediately noticed about her new Asiatic Ballator Jack was that he didn’t ever seem to go outside, especially during Halloween. Oh, he was just fine when there were other Ballators around, Ballators he could hang out with and talk to and feel safe with, but if the yard was empty? He stayed in his stall. With the exception of the ‘spookiest’ month of the year. Being an Australian, Hannah hadn’t seen much reason to celebrate Halloween growing up (nor had it been the norm, really) but ever since she’d discovered her magical abilities at the age of eighteen, freshly into university, she’d changed her tune. Now, she not only wanted to embrace the spooky season, she also wanted to embrace her identity as a witch. Or a sorceress, depending on how one wanted to call them. Hannah wasn’t really fussy about labels. Hannah loved Halloween, getting the house decorated and the Ballators dressed up, dressing herself and Josephine up, making spooky Halloween treats with

Somehow, Arabica had managed to get lost again. He lowered his head with an annoyed sigh, ears pinning back. “Okay, forest, I was scared before, but now I’m just angry,” Arabica said to the empty, freezing air around him. “Show me the way out already!” “I’m sorry that I couldn’t be more help to you,” said Dasher, walking alongside his Ballator. “You’re here, and your company is more than helpful enough,” said Arabica, pressing his side against the reindeer’s. “I probably would’ve gone mad ages ago if it weren’t for you.” “Didn’t Jaik say something about a mad Ballator trapped in these woods?” Dasher asked. “That does sound familiar, yes,” said Arabica. “I don’t want to end up like him, but… at least I haven’t come across him yet either.” “Small mercies,” Dasher agreed. “Why don’t we try this way?” Arabica didn’t know which direction he and Dasher were headed in, only that it was to his left, as the old advice for being stuck in a labyrinth went. “An idea is better than no

In his sleep, Jaik whimpered. The stallion’s black ears twitched this way and that, his back hoof twitching in the straw upon which he lay. His muscles flickered with movement as behind his eyes, an awful tale played out. He was back in the Deadwoods, the place that he, Eris, and Arabica had visited when they’d been very young. He was still as scared as he’d been last time, certainly, his heart pounding as he made his way through the spooky underbrush with his companions. “D-do you think we’ll find our way out of here soon?” Arabica asked, the foal shivering as he pressed close to Jaik. “Don’t be silly, Arabica, of course we will,” Eris scoffed. “We have that spell from Hannah, we can find our way out of any forest easy.” “Are you sure?” Arabica whined. “We’ve been walking for hours and my hooves hurt…” “By Ares, you big baby,” said Eris, rolling her eyes. “Aether or Ares or someone will lead us out of here eventually.” Jaik remembered Owl appearing, though he didn’t remember her

His whole life, Ruk Demon had felt like an outcast. A loner. Like he didn’t belong. His mother’s herd had shunned him, leading to his mother abandoning her own son in a forest that nobody knew the name of. Merely for the circumstances of his birth, for him being born to a Mountain stallion. As he had grown, his circumstances had become more pronounced, his build being much larger than the other Forest colts. His horns, too, had been the point of ridicule, twisted things that now became tangled in vines more often than not. A demon, many a human called him because of his twisted red horns, and maybe they were right. And so, when Ruk had heard of this new Highlord, the Deathgod Tyndairai who took in all of those who were broken and rejected due to the nature of their birth, he had been interested. Most interested indeed. “Where are we going, Ruk?” Jaik asked after having found and freed the stallion for the day. For a reason unbeknownst to him (perhaps he had been cursed by a witch, it

Yojimbo’s nose wrinkled. Smoke. Oh, now there was a lovely smell to detect in a forest, of all places. He wasn’t sure if it was heat from the flames that he was feeling or anger at whomever had started this fire. Whichever it was, he wanted to get out of here. And fast. But the question was, how? On every side of him, there were trees, any of which could lead him headlong into the fire or be caught up in the blaze. Nothing for it, though, other than to poke around and try to head away from the stench of smoke. Apparently, some years ago, there had been very bad bushfires in the land of Australia that he’d now found himself in, but he wasn’t sure which part of the world he was in now. Hannah had said something about a spell on her Ballators leading them wherever they wished to go as long as they were in a forest, hadn’t she? He wasn’t sure how it worked, though. And then a ghastly-looking thing stumbled in front of Yojimbo, causing him to come to a screeching halt. Its ragged mane was

Hannah wasn’t much of a believer in Tarot. Her magic was used to make life easier, though she believed in people (and Ballators) being able to choose their own fates, not to be led by cards or anything of the like. She didn’t begrudge those who did use it, of course (and her wife Josephine did very much enjoy having her fortune told at fairs and the like), but it just wasn’t for her. What she did know of Tarot, though, was some of what the cards meant. The Hanged Man, Death, The Emperor, The Chariot, all cards that had different meanings and which could change vastly in meaning if flipped upside down. She’d learned much about it at Josephine’s behest, but, according to her wife, she lacked the showmanship and melodrama of the tarot readers at festivals. Oh well. At least Hannah didn’t have to feel bad about denying her wife something. It was while she was looking through her own deck (mostly for decorative purposes, honestly, these cards depicted Ballators and were so pretty) that

Arabica had gotten turned around again. He whined as he lowered his head, trembling as he passed by dead and broken trees. This was the Deadwoods, he knew it in his heart. Dasher stayed as close to his Ballator as he could, providing what comfort he was able to. “It’s okay,” Dasher murmured to the frightened Desert Ballator. “We’ll find our way out of here.” “How?” Arabica whined, his ears pinned. “Hannah’s spell doesn’t work here, we both know that!” “Maybe it will start working if we venture close to an actual forest?” Dasher suggested. Arabica made a noise of uncertainty, taking tentative steps through the dead underbrush. Or, well, the lack of underbrush. He was almost glad for that, really, because then there would be far less of a chance of him stepping on a stick and alerting enemies to his presence. There was a noise in the distance, Arabica immediately on the alert, standing stock still. His rabicano striped sides heaved as he hyperventilated, turquoise eyes darting every

Jaik was pretty sure that he was dreaming. He must be, because he certainly didn’t remember leaving Hannah’s property. If he thought about it, he could vaguely remember a journey leaving the stable in which he’d bedded down, through Hannah’s property, out through the woods, through the Charred Plains and the Deadwoods, and then… but no. He’d done that already, searching for Star with Eris. The Deadwoods had suddenly fallen away, darkness creeping around them like a heavy blanket that muffled all sound and light and sensation, and Jaik had preferred the Deadwoods. And then they’d been in Hannibal’s domain, though they hadn’t seen the Highlord himself. At least, not up close. Not like this. But now, in this dream or whatever it was, Jaik found himself standing across from the stallion. Hannibal’s bare body, bereft of any horns or manes or even a tail, was a black blotch, his ribs standing out against the fire of his internum. Smoke puffed from glowing nostrils, even his eyes seeming to

Ever since the advent of the Red Star, Perdita had found herself more and more being a point of comfort, of protection, for the foals and young ones that lived on Hannah’s property. Things were ever wont to go bump in the night, but now, those bumps were a whole lot scarier to impressionable young foals who had heard terrible stories about the red star from Jaik and Eris. Not that those stories were meant to frighten, of course, more… to be a warning to the foals. To not wander off, to not let curiosity lead them astray, to always travel in groups. Tonight was one such night where Perdita was surrounded by the younglings, all vying for a spot under her spotted belly. And all because the moon that had arisen in the sky was a bloody red, almost the same colour as Big Red’s coat. She was far from the group, though she still gazed up at the red moon hanging heavy in the sky. It seemed so foreboding, even Perdita couldn’t quite shake off the fear trying to grip her heart. She just