When Magnus had crawled from the ocean, spitting up saltwater and brine from his lungs, the idea of family had felt like a dream. It had been years (decades) since he had wandered the earth with Joelle by his side; he was grateful to be alive, but he had not harbored dreams that he would be welcomed back by familiar arms, let alone familial ones. Those first days had been an exercise in angst and loneliness, the dark gold stallion wandering lands that had once been as familiar as the curve of a lover. He had to relearn the way time had worn their edges, the new shapes—the new faces that now populated them.
But then—oh, then!—he had seen Fiero. His dark, beautiful, wonderful son with torment in his eyes. And he had learned that a small piece of Joelle had lived on in him, and that, even better, there was extended family. There was children and grand children and even great-grand children. It was an odd feeling to know that your bloodline had extended so far when you had not passed as many years; in many ways, his own son was older than him, having lived out the length of time fully while he slumbered beneath the sea.
So his heart thrums with hope as he wanders the meadow that he will find Fiero and his family of wild things. He does not recognize her when she walks up to him, has no way of knowing for sure, but he feels a pang in his chest when he turns to look toward her, his dark eyes thoughtful as he considers her and the emotion on her beautiful young face. “Yes?” he responds instinctively, his voice whiskey and smoke. He takes a step forward and presses the velvet of his muzzle to her cheek, making low sounds. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, his body curving protectively around her. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll make it okay.”
magnus
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