The darkness on his skin feels unfamiliar and at the same time, unwelcoming. It is as if it doesn’t recognize him as the cave mouth yawns before him, a deep and dark neverending abyss. The darkness used to call to him, used to dance around his legs and usher him within its cavern’s deep belly, where cold stone and dripping staglicites greeted him. But as he stands on the cusp of the cave, where thick vines veil anything beyond the entrance, he is frozen in place - not in fear, but almost in reverence. Blinking back at him are red, devilish eyes. They glow like dying embers within the darkness, and he could hear the dripping of their salivating jaws and the clacking of their sharpened teeth, waiting for his entrance so that they may freely tear apart his flesh again, one muscle fragment at a time. The cerulean of his eyes flash closed as his lids tighten around them, his black lips curling into a wince as memories plunge into his mind - the blood, the screams, the burning, the beasts - it is all neverending, a loud and boisterous replay within his mind’s eye, plaguing his thoughts and dreams. Their voices become louder and louder, their labored breathing and hungry pants nearly bursting his eardrums, before suddenly - - silence. Balto gasps, opening his eyes quickly and searching the depths of the familiar cave in search for their bloodthirsty howls, but there is nothing. No glowing eyes, no hissing voices, nothing. The blue roan pants heavily, his sides heaving as his body threatens to spill the contents of his stomach, but he somehow controls it and swallows hard, gazing into the emptiness with a wildly beating heart. Sweat drenches his neck and shoulders, his black mane sticking tightly to his flesh as his nostrils flare, hoping for something to happen so that he would feel comfortable with entering. There is something different about himself - Balto could sense it the second the cave’s mouth closed on him on the mountain. He felt lighter, stronger, younger - but the feeling did not erase the terrors of what happened in that cave, nor did it keep the flashbacks or nightmares from completely overwhelming him. It is not something he cares to keep, nor does he care to understand - it is a gift given to him as if it would erase everything he had done in the darkness, or everything that had been done to him. The scarred flesh behind his shoulder, where his leg meets his barrel, thrums lightly with the blood that pumps through his veins, reminding him of the deep hole that had been carved out of him by their teeth and hooves - put back together by the faeries (or gods, or whoever plays the part) as if he is some puppet to kill and revive. The stallion snorts sharply, lifting his head to inhale deeply - it is his cave, their cave. But even so, he cannot help but to hesitate near the entrance, even with the threat of dawn at some point approaching. once the king of beasts but now they feast on thoughts beneath his vacant crown. |
@[Faulkor] <3