We got older and I should have known
that I’d feel colder when I walk alone
that I’d feel colder when I walk alone
The Taiga will be free, she'd said.
That had been perfectly fine with him. This forest had been a no-man's-land as far as he'd known, and before that, she had lived in it, or something of the like. Time was fake anyway; he'd known that for a while now. His going away and returning some twenty years later where for him maybe three or so had passed, had been a clear indicator. Finding Sarkis had been another.
But one thing did kinda bother him? He'd never seen her since. Sure, nobody else seemed to have claimed it and turned it into anything else either, so it's not like he actually really cared too much. But it'd occurred to him how quiet it was, or had been. A little too quiet, perhaps.
Free and empty weren't the same thing after all. So he visits. But when the scaled silver roan enters the redwood forests and finds himself fitting in perfectly, the silvery sheen of his roan once-coat and silver mane both the colour of the mist and his bay head the colour of the trees, he's amused enough to chuckle out loud. The sound carries farther than he's used to, even on the Isle, so after that he shakes his mane and trots a little further. His draft-shaped legs don't bother today with silence, and so he hopes that if anyone lives here still, they'll come greet him.
At least, that's the idea.
That had been perfectly fine with him. This forest had been a no-man's-land as far as he'd known, and before that, she had lived in it, or something of the like. Time was fake anyway; he'd known that for a while now. His going away and returning some twenty years later where for him maybe three or so had passed, had been a clear indicator. Finding Sarkis had been another.
But one thing did kinda bother him? He'd never seen her since. Sure, nobody else seemed to have claimed it and turned it into anything else either, so it's not like he actually really cared too much. But it'd occurred to him how quiet it was, or had been. A little too quiet, perhaps.
Free and empty weren't the same thing after all. So he visits. But when the scaled silver roan enters the redwood forests and finds himself fitting in perfectly, the silvery sheen of his roan once-coat and silver mane both the colour of the mist and his bay head the colour of the trees, he's amused enough to chuckle out loud. The sound carries farther than he's used to, even on the Isle, so after that he shakes his mane and trots a little further. His draft-shaped legs don't bother today with silence, and so he hopes that if anyone lives here still, they'll come greet him.
At least, that's the idea.
Leilan
no. 7 | ice forged in fire
@[Lilitha] and/or @[Ruan] and/or anyone
One curious beastie here
Two things I know I can make: pretty kids, and people mad.
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