07-06-2016, 09:14 PM
There was only one willow left within the depths of the forest, a young one not so far outside it’s springing sapling-hood. One reborn from devastation, as he had been. One reborn from the shattered remains of a tree split and torn from its trunk by the most raucous of beasts in all of the reaching kingdoms – the Nightwalker of course.
And it is at the sprouting young willow that the wraith-king finds himself at, velvet black lips lipping at its pliable boughs as thundering laughs rumble from his chest at the passing memories. He, a wild thing bullying his way through life had been found tangled and helpless within the willow’s limbs by none other than the yellow-marbled Amazonian queen herself, her title a thing unknown and unheeded by him. And with their titles unbeknownst to each other the two had become the closest of friends, their friendship furnished by the laughable absurdity of his situation laying the grounds of their depths.
Vanquish had worn his crown too many years and his skin bore the scars of too many wars to not walk amongst the Meadow as if he was not who he was – a king, a lover, a friend, a father, a fighter. The Percheron allowed his wings to drape down his sides, talons clawing into the moist grass beneath him as Deserts’ oasis water slithered from his pores and danced across his black flesh to trickle down into the roots of the willow that belonged to Quark and the king.
.
vanquish
black king of the deserts
