you and me and the devil makes three.

[J-Bry]

I AM the sorrow.
LIKE YOU, I TOO AM FILLED WITH sadness.
THIS WORLD IS ONE OF sadness...

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Nighttime’s dark wings pleased the gypsy king. He could slip into the borderline territory easily, and although the plains were vast, he was dark as well and the darkness was good. He had absolutely no desire to meet anyone else at this time.

As Luna dusted off her olden strings above him, the shire ghosted over the seas on pale feathers, observing the grand oak that lie directly ahead of him. Lonely… That’s what the hundred-year-old tree looked to be. There it stood, swept over and worn out, all alone under the moon shine. Like him. For some reason, he felt there was a connection to him and this oaken fairy; like they had both lost so much and seen so little love. No, that’s so stupid. The masked ghost shook away the trembling doubt in his mind, and proceeded to study the landscape further. Should he choose to settle down here, it would mean he could impose on a potential claimant… But it would mean a home. A real home to come back to.

Before a second thought he’d set his mind. As he began to work over the land, the shire stayed silent. He wasn’t going to come in, screaming and whatnot, disturbing the peace like those other stallions did. No, he was going to dominate the land by scent and presence, and soon everyone would know that he was the one that inhabited Cyprenaea. Whether by gossip or fast-spread rumors, they’d all know that a new stallion was here. A momentary sense of pride washed over Daedalus, and instinctively the words of the song slipped out of his mouth.

Don’t you weep, pretty baby…
Don’t you weep, pretty baby…

When he heard himself he heard his mother. As if she was here again, singing back to him, proud of him. That was the only pride he’d ever gotten, and he cherished it so dearly now, especially when he was alone.

She’s long gone with her red shoes on,
Gonna need another lovin’ baby…

The gypsy silenced for a few heartbeats, contemplating those lines. He had never understood what they meant.

Go to sleep, little baby…
Go to sleep, little baby…

You and me and the devil makes three,
Don’t need no other lovin’ baby…

Come lay bones on the Alabaster stones and be my ever-lovin’ baby.

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- - - - - - -

Battle brings death. Death brings sorrow.

THE LIVING may not hear them,
THEIR VOICES may fall upon deaf ears...
BUT, MAKE NO mistake
the dead ARE NOT silent

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