06-13-2017, 11:02 PM
halchon
sometimes quiet is violent
He had quickly grown accustomed to wandering. Now that he was out from under his father’s oppressive thumb, breathing the fresh air that just escaped his grasp in the Cove, he had no real interest in returning this night. He walked, stumbling only when his legs became ensnared in the weaving undergrowth beneath his hooves or when a particularly tricky thought or memory pressed its way to the forefront of his mind. Before long, he had walked the perimeter of the forest, skirting the edge of the trees before spiraling out and back in again.
In and out, in and out. He lost track of how many times he completed this pattern, but by the time he had stopped he was coated in a thin sheen of sweat that chilled him as the sun and its subsequent warmth disappeared behind the trees.
Most of the horses that populated the Forest were gone for the night; they had either found some place to rest or gone home. But Halchon continued to wander, not yet ready to let the ghosts of his past grow louder, as they always seemed to do the closer he got to the Cove.
Before long, he had come upon yet another wanderer; a mare with a peachy pearlescent sheen to her coat stood not far off from him, but he could tell from the way that her guard was still down that she either didn’t see him or didn’t perceive him as a threat. Both were an equally large mistake.
She was small and pretty, carefully put together like so many of the mares he had known and abused in his life. The pale rosy tint to her skin made her appear almost porcelain, like a doll that was liable to break at any given time. Her narrow chest heaved with panicked breaths, and the faint smell of sweat given off of her nervous frame made Halchon close his eyes and inhale deeply.
His face and his stride were nonchalant as he took his first step towards her, then his second. As startling or hurting her was not his intention (not yet anyways) he did nothing to try to conceal the sounds resulting from his approach. A twig snapped her, a bush nudged to the side there.
He wanted her to think she was in control, that he posed no danger to her. Though words had never been his strong suit, his handsome face was, and he made sure it was directly in the mare’s field of vision as he completed his approach.
“Lost?” He croaked, the simple word and the struggle it was for him to expel it a testament to the years he had spent neglected and alone in the Cove, lacking company that had any interest in the few words he spoke.
Yikes, it's rough! I'm sorry I'm still trying to get a feel for him