When days have become endless, when they lose all meaning, it's so very easy for the days and weeks and months to become muddled together, fading into one monotonous span of time. It is the price of immortality, one might suppose. A price he has paid over and over and over again.

He had long since lost track of his ceaseless wanderings. Once, he had been a soldier. Purpose had been burned into his bones, an indelible stamp. Then his home had fallen, ravaged by forces far greater than he. In the years since, he had become nothing more than another of Beqanna’s infinite wanderers, faceless and nameless. No longer a king or a warrior. Just another in an endless sea.

While he had not been content, he had accepted his purposeless existence. He has given himself to the fog of immortality. Perhaps he had slept. Perhaps he had merely wandered. But whatever the case, for the first time in ages, he finds himself restless.

For a moment, the sky becomes just a bit brighter, the stalks of grass and quivering leaves just that much sharper. With a grunt, the pale stallion stretches long legs forward, feathered wings extending to their full, impressive length before a forcefully wakening shake consumes his body.

Stiffness relieved, he settles himself once more, snorting for good measure. Only then does he recognize where he had unwittingly carried himself. The meadow, a place as familiar to him as it is foreign.

quiet now, you're gonna wake the beast

hide your soul out of his reach

Hurricane