makai
What they have is beautiful, but it is impossible.
Makai did not have a home—not really.
He had lived several places over the course of his life (lives?): the Jungle with his mother as a colt; the Falls when he had followed Oksana there; the Chamber when he was warding off his sickness. More often than not, he wandered in the spaces between, unable to find root. The truth was that he had, over the years, found a home, but it wasn’t in the traditional sense. He found home in the musky scent of Oksana when she was waking in the moment. He found it in the crushing joy of his children looking up at him.
He found it in their family, no matter the location.
Still, that did not quell his natural tendency to roam. It was simply in his nature to keep moving, most often at a breakneck pace. Today, however, he was content to walk. Such wanderings brought him to the forest, where the sun was less intense than it was in the meadow, the light filtering through the crowded trees. It made the spring days that much more enjoyable, and he found himself lifting his head to enjoy it.
That is, until he hears the voice. It is unforgettable, and when he looks down to see the roan stallion, his dark mouth twists into a smile. “Michaelis,” he greets fondly, reaching over to bump the other’s neck. “It has been,” his voice trails off as he tries to remember the last time that he had seen him. Certainly in the Falls when Oksana had worn the crown—and at least another time. Finally, he just concludes: “Too long.”
Settling back, one leg cocking, he tilts his head to consider him. Had Michaelis been covered in shadows the last time they had met? He didn’t think so, but the stallion looked so home cloaked in darkness that he couldn’t be sure. “It is good to see you again. What have you been up to?” As if no time had passed at all.
you're the fire and the flood
and I'll always feel you in my blood
