we write verses in the violence Posted on January 25, 2026 at 07:24:54 PM by Praetorian
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Much had changed on Salem as of late, and talk said that it was much the same on the other islands-- if snippets of rumor could be believed. Carthage, his father, still ruled the Ridge, a tropical territory neighboring the land where the young buckskin male had been born. Praetorian often thought about the lush density of the Atlantean jungle, the humidity that clung to his coat and coaxed his locks into an even wilder, curly mess than it was on most days, and found that he did miss it. Not enough, however, to abandon his post here in the Dunes and swim north to be under his father's thumb.
Salem was dry. And hot. Shadeless as a desert ought to be. It bared itself to the cruel eye of the sun and thrived. Life was harder to carve out here, yes, but it could be done, and, for now at least, Praetorian was willing to do so. He spent the bulk of his time patrolling the borders, keeping an eye out for danger to Lucifer's herd, and generally wandering Salem's borderlands. He had not managed to start his own herd yet, regrettably, but there was time enough for that. It could at least be said for Praetorian that he did not rush.
It was on one of these regular sojourns that the buckskin came across a pale mare and her two boys playing in the dirt and sand. Keeping his distance, Praetorian bobbed his head in a greeting. They didn't really know each other; he wasn't even sure he knew her name. She was one of Lucifer's ladies, and he'd kept his distance as a result. The buckskin paused his walk long enough to consider striking up a conversation with her, caught awkwardly between continuing on and minding his own business. Only the twitch of a dark ear betrayed any uncertainty about this endeavor.