oh, this my weapon, this my loam. this my blood, this my bone.
Once upon a time, Brigade may have been the eldest son of his parent’s dreams. He had been adventurous and kind and protective. He had been wild and reckless and so keen on chasing the sunset that he nearly forgot how to keep his feet on the ground. But the world was not kind and he had not known the summer’s sweet kiss or autumn’s gentle lullaby. He had only known scorched earth and bitter winds and the truth, the reality, the harshness of honesty as it split open his world like an overripe fruit.
He learned what it was to make the wrong decision and then how much worse it was to make no decision at all. He had learned what it was to be powerless and then lost and then secluded. He had lost the summer warmth of his family and, most of all, his twin. He had lost her somewhere and he was too ashamed now to show her his face—to let her see the failures written all over the angles and planes.
So he keeps to himself.
Sometimes within the confines of Loess, a prison and a haven, depending on his mood. Sometimes within the common lands where he can be someone new. Either way, he rarely seeks out company; in fact, he does his best to avoid it. He sticks to the shadows and the outskirts, his rangy body growing as youth bleeds from him every day. He is handsome, but there is a hardness about him, a sharpness that keeps it from showing completely. Instead he looks defensive and angry, always just seconds away from a fight.
Not her though.
She is beautiful and gleaming and it catches his eye in a way that he instantly hates. Hates because he has never been one to be drawn in by beauty—never one to seek it out. But it catches his young heart anyway and he stands quiet for a moment, his antlered head stilled amongst the trees, his hooves paused.
@[Kensa]