The autumn chill was present in the air of the forest; its cold breath unfamiliar against Warrick’s auburn skin. He was becoming used to the humid climate of Tephra, and though not harsh or frigid, the wind here had a certain bite to it that makes his muscles feel taut underneath his skin. He welcomes the change in scenery, enjoying the way the cool air brushes his dark, tangled mane away from the musculature of his neck and withers, causing him to shiver slightly.
She doesn’t seem particularly upset that he had crossed her path unintentionally, and though no name was offered to him, the bay stallion felt like he should stay momentarily. His dark eyes cannot help but linger on the bangles that clasp her forelegs and pierce her ears, glittering brilliantly in the dusty sunlight. He cannot help but think that he should know her, or at least know of her. She seems somehow important in this land that he was still trying to become familiar with. Because of this, Warrick carefully begins to take a few steps towards the mare. At her question (a polite attempt at small talk and quite basic, to be sure) the stallion halts abruptly. To her, the question was hardly even personal or prying and merely a question of politeness. However, for some reason it strikes a chord in the stallion. Warrick throws his head up stiffly and snorts uneasily. To answer her question truthfully would mean to speak his pain – and how could he ever verbalize the loss? The abandonment? How could he articulate that he knew he would never truly find his home or his family?
For a moment he thinks to lie to her. She’s merely a stranger and she would probably rather keep enjoying her quiet afternoon in the forest than to be bothered by a passerby’s troubles. Normally, Warrick would do this. He would mask the pain with a dashing smile and speak of things that he pretends he understands – such as happiness or love.
But for some reason, Warrick feels as if he should not lie to her - as if she would see past the façade anyways, and that lying would only offend her.
“I’m stupidly running away from something that I can never possibly outrun,” he admits softly, the words flowing from him heavily like a pile of bricks. He feels their weight as they spill from his indigo lips yet doesn’t feel the least bit unburdened.
The forest doesn’t seem quite as welcoming as it did before and it seems unsettlingly quiet, as if the trees were silently judging him. He cannot focus his gaze on anywhere but hers, dark meeting dark.
warrick.
like the sun swallowed up by the earth