Gods

by TheTimeSword

Hawkeye - Beast I

Once the fire died, the mare went to her quarters. She barricaded herself in, leaving the hide atop the dull embers, preventing the pit from being ruined by the snow that was continually intruding. The storm had not been nearly as severe as she had first assumed, the gusts barely making whirlwinds of ice. New blankets of snow were greeted by the sun early the next morn.

With her bone knife at the ready, the mare set on exploring the rest of her new residence.

Pushing past the collapsed stone and wood that crooked the other passage on the ground level, the mare noted how much destruction had been caused within the west wing. She wondered if time had truly been the cause of the mighty dwelling's disarray, or if the unseen had come for the ancient ones. All of the chambers that sat against the outside had collapsed, while the inward side fared no better.

Near the end of the hallway, or what used to be a hallway, the mare found one room that had remained unspoiled. Though the door was chipped in half like an axe through a tree, the innards were the same as her own quarters. The ancient bed had been chewed to bits, leaving holes that were far worse than hers. She didn't care about that, however, as the wooden box with legs had been pushed into a corner away from the door. Tugging at the handles, she found more than just garments this time.

The two smallest compartments at the top held something she had only heard of and had never expected to see. In all her years, though she had been told countless times to avoid ruins, there was always an addition to that command. Avoiding the ancient's texts, their words filled with lies, was above all other taboos.

As she ignored the teachings of her ancestors, the mare found that the relics turned to dust as she opened their bindings. The words were unreadable, though she wouldn't have been able to read them regardless. Not all of the tomes were the same, however. One, trapped at the bottom below the rest, had managed to hold together as time withered its brethren. Many of the pages stuck together, but the writing was still legible.

Tucking it into her hood, the mare chose to keep it. Though she had never admitted it to any of her other kin, she had always found a fascination for the ancients and their things. It was a puzzle that could never be solved, and that very idea enticed her.

Sudden sounds of the present broke her from the past immediately, snapping her whole body to face the shredded bed. With her bone knife in hoof, she eyed the movement within the torn foam, hoping that it was just her imagination.

For the mare, she was unlucky on this day. Her worries had come true; an animal burst from the sleeping square, charging and screeching. The high-pitched, raspy squeal echoed within the room, sending a burst of adrenaline within the mare. She had still been stuck in her old ways within the cave where any animal's noise was forbidden and would be ceased posthaste. Clamping her bone knife into the skull, the mare had halted the cry.

She regretted it.

Not because she took the life of an animal, she had done that plenty of times, nor because she did it on the ancient's hallowed ground, which was expressly forbidden. No, she regretted it because the smell would attract wildlife and gods.

In the cave of the remnants of kin, a pony could take the corpse of an animal deep within the bowels. The other kin would remove the trace of its scent by dragging dirt, mud or snow within the tracks. The smell would not waft far enough for wild animals or gods to smell, and once the kin had skinned the beast, they would leave the meat as a sacrifice.

But the killing always took place far from the sanctity of the remnant's perimeters. Blood left a smell that could only be removed by the elements.

Leaving the blade in the animal's skull, she wrapped a hoof around its length and rushed into the light. Maneuvering around the rubble, she threw the creature into the snow. In the sun, she knew the critter was nothing more than a weasel. It would have done no harm had she just left it alone, yet the tenseness she had been feeling overwhelmed her, forcing wild judgement.

She pulled the knife from the skull and sunk it into the snow. As quickly as she could, the mare dug a hole with her hooves. Deeper and deeper, she went until she hit dirt. Pulling it by the weasel by the tail, she stuffed the violent critter into the hole and buried snow atop its corpse. There was no time to waste skinning it. Blood had been left within the room which needed to be scrubbed, along with any drops on the floor.

Unwrapping her hood and pulling at the cloth she used to cover her muzzle, the mare piled snow atop the garment. She would carry it back and mask the blood's scent as best she could, praying that it would be enough.