12-30-2017, 11:43 AM
like the sun swallowed up by the earth
His heart has always been open and full, ever since he was merely a boy. He took care of his mother and his twin sister until their disappearance into the stars at the Reckoning, and the protectiveness that he had for them back then now has overflowed into each equine he meets now - he strives to make them feel needed and hopeful, protected and safe within his guidance and leadership - but now, he is starting to realize, that his heart is now bending into many directions and he cannot keep promises he makes (even if they are only promises to himself). Ceara needs him in a way that he is not sure he can give her, but there is a part of him who wishes it so - that he could be the stronghold for her in the way that she wanted, the way that she needed. He cannot help but think he is to blame - she is young and impressionable, and though he is able to deny himself certain things, she may not be able to do the same. Her words are wise beyond her years, and with a solemn face, he listens. She draws nearer to him, the darkness of her hide against the auburn of his own, the narrow of her chest against the broad thickness of his. Her mouth finds the coiled muscle beneath his skin, deliberately and without hesitation pressing her lips closed in a kiss - his flesh shivers, though he cannot tell if it is because of her words or because of the warmth of her mouth against him, but he dare not linger on the thought a moment longer. His cobalt feathers ruffling gently at the feeling of her skin so near to him, their downy softness brushing against the russet of his barrel in hushed whispers. “Ceara,” he murmurs, his brow furrowing as he keeps his gaze on her, despite her blazing eyes turning to the volcano in the distance.
“I am not alone,” he tells her with a tiny tilt of his head, the black of his forelock cascading into his vision. “I have all of Tephra at my side to carry me - to carry us all - into prosperity. I have you.” He presses his lips together in thought, his mouth growing taut as the blue of his muzzle creates a thin line.
Warrick is aware of what lies beneath her questions - she knows he has Tangerine, but not always. The woman is as wayward as the wind and though her scent graces the Tephran shores often, she is also not attached to the volcano as he is. He wouldn’t want her to be - then she wouldn’t be who he fell in love with - but the stallion curiously watches Ceara as the young mare unknowingly creates a spot for herself, a pillar of strength when his Tangerine's absence becomes too much to handle.
Warrick
@[Ceara]