there will always be the hunt skekMal inhaled the deep scent of the thick forest; the moss mixed with damp earth and the rain that just washed Thra. His tail thumped against the ground, with content, as last droplets fell on his unmasked face.
by skekMal

skekMal’s was bringing no news for three unum and urVa started to worry. Not in a possessive, foolish kind of way, which was under them both – they go and come as they pleased and neither of them had an urge to control the other.

No, in a way of an old friend who didn’t see you for long and wonders if everything is alright and you are sound.

skekMal could overcome more dangers than anyone, yet a lingering yearning started to put a spell on urVa’s soul. They were one, even if separated. They were created as one, on a distant world, where everything was made of pure light and white towers scraped the skies with their needle-like peaks.

He very often tried to remember how it was to be MalVa. Some nights he was waking up from a fleeting dream, and he knew skekMal was waking from it too, even if he was on the other side of Thra. MalVa was wild, untamed like the wind but also rational and filled with wisdom. He liked to think that he took the wisdom for himself, and the rational part too, but he was aware skekMal was not a fool. They were in some way misdivided. Neither of them got a full dose of the urskek characteristics, either dark of light.

urVa wondered how much skekMal remembers from life before, if more than him, but he knew that better not to ask. skekMal reacted to all conversations about his previous self with unnatural aggression, this time towards him. It was so shocking and unpleasant that urVa didn’t try again.

The Archer made a bonfire. Before skekMal’s cave. Like a glimpse of light could call him back, like it was similar to the horn the skeksis had for him. Yet urVa would never use a horn, the horn had too much of a commanding feel to it. He subtly brushed skekMal’s consciousness with tiny pleasant strokes.

Come back. I miss you.

skekMal laughed at the horn, oh yes. And was coming on the sound of it, only if he felt like it. The skeksis stopped hoping that he would arrive like in his youth, ready to indulge in whatever the castle planned and enjoyed. The Hunter once told his counterpart that castle skeksis grew stale and boring, just because they knew he would come. Better to not come, keep them on their toes and show them that skekMal is not their dark fulfillment, supplier of thrill.

He was the Hunter. And only that.

For urVa, he was more than anything.

The fire was bursting into the air, with clear, white-and-yellow flame. Come back. I need you.

urVa never considered himself a sentimental kind, but lack of skekMal and his blunt tongue was similar to lack of limb. His raw deep laughter. His hard skin, when he touched him. It all was more than thrill the skeksis craved for. He only hoped skekMal knows that and shares it.

One hour.



urVa knew that this night, skekMal won’t come. The fire will burn out in the morning and the he will set a new flame again, each and every night, to send a hopeful message through the bond they shared.

Come back. My skekMal.

The Archer eventually made his bedding of furs skekMal always was leaving in his cave – the one cave urVa gave him himself, to keep his trophies in and which became eventually his home. The furs smelled of leather and grass, of old bones and skin, scents that engulfed him and allowed him to close his eyes. And sleep.

Deep night reigned over the woods when urVa felt a hard and lean body against his back. skekMal seemed desperate to steal as much pressure from him as possible. He was hungry. For closeness. And for him.

He was touch starved and urVa felt the same, after the whole three unum of loneliness.

“skekMal” the Archer huffed, feeling as the Hunter embraced him with all six limbs.

And everything fell into its place.

You came back. Be one with me.

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skekMalthe hunt never ends
Mal. Hunter. Witch, forest spirit and a wild creature. Night enchantress and pagan soul. Loves slavic mythology and literature. Woods are her sacred place.
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