#horizonhuntrcss

Do you play your Aloy with the heart, fist or brain option or a mix-- or none at all? Need to know for science.

Nothing existed outside the machine, filling his vision like a bad accident, like the end of the world: six blazing yellow lanterns looming over a temple framed with whirring, splayed columns. It tasted the air for him-- no, it wasn't living, it scanned for him. And Nil couldn't help but fault a smile, a sharp cut of teeth that no machine could properly appreciate or, rather, see.

And he grinned at the scrapper, waiting oh so patiently for it to move on from his sanctuary within his tall-grass and wafting shadow. The hunter liked to this he was an aware man, one that drank in his surroundings with parched lips. But he hadn't slept-- on the hunt for the taste of a bandit, tracking her little shuffles and broken grass across the country into the edges of Nora territory for days. So humbled was he by the whirring, living machinery that he had almost forgotten it was there at all, on the edge of his periphery like a passing phantom. And now? It had all of his attention, but he felt alone. He was so completely, wonderfully alone with the creature.

With no witnesses, he started to learn about himself—who is he really? Did he die at all if not to the hands of another? Would the Nora just find a mauled corpse and think he was simply a victim of nature-- or properly murdered?

And in a blaze of effervescence, sparks flew and licked at his cheeks. The harrowing sound of the tear arrow gave a low hum, like nature itself, before exploding in a whiteness that was so close to heaven and death, Nil couldn't help but find it beautiful. He took a controlled tumble to the side, into the naked openness and blinked away the after images of clicking eye sockets and grinding gears. The world didn't quite appear the same afterward.

"Ah, huntress," he said, as if commenting on the weather. Nil recognized the carnage only in the arrows, the shrewdness of the make-- the little edges in the ridge-wood. Still, it was the first time he'd seen her kill-- if kill was the proper word-- something like this. It was truly a work of artisan-ship, as much so as hacking at scrap metal could be.

Her hair was blood-colored in the twilight air, seeing it only after a moment of looking at the silent scrapper corpse. He arched a dark brow at her as he crouched on his haunches, the burning of adrenaline still flinty in his veins. Apparently shaken.

Nil watched her, catching how the rain touched her eyelashes and glints the ivory of her skin. Nil holds the image in his chest, the profile of a huntress in the rainstorm. Was she speaking to him? Nil didn’t know, but he coveted the words. A small kernel of warmth between his ribs.

“Except the Sun,” Nil says thoughtfully, a glint of silver eyes waiting for her if she looks at him.

“Or so the Carja say,” he said, amused, as if the Sun isn’t a part of him, doesn’t burn in his very veins. Doesn’t pulls every string in Nil, and puppet him across the earth. No, the Sun was a piece of Nil, whether he believed it to be a God or not. Fated like every Carja man, and the life of every soldier. Nil liked to pretend not be a plaything for awhile.

He stood next to her, looking at the bandit camp and all its smoke. The rain put out most of the fires that were caused, and the merchants were moving in like churning ants. The rain blurred the world strangely, a haze of significance that was almost dream-like to partake in next to the huntress. 

Funny, for all the things that were her, he still didn’t have a name.

  horizonhuntrcss  ...

*casually makes verses for every muse to get the crap scared out of them* who, me? a masochist? lmfao

  horizonhuntrcss  Muninn has...

my muse is like ‘DAFUQ’ and I’m over here going *GRABBY HANDS* lol