Death has lingered around Tarian for almost his entire life. (Doesn't it for all mortals?) It has never come for him, even when he had been young and brash and careless with his life. That recklessness had been the reason that he joined the Guard in the first place. The entire regiment had been made of misfits: those that no longer any place to belong. They were the jagged edges of society - the bastards and the castaways and those with nothing left to lose.
Tarian stepped onto the battlefield again and again, hurling himself into the slaughter and carnage. He didn't care.
And yet, for each fight he fought, there was always an after.
A moment where he would stand near the dying; wondering why he stood and they had fallen. In those quiet moments - (or they should be, though there is little peace to found around strewn innards and death cries) - the silver pegasus learned that he could become whatever they needed. They would look at him with some part of their soul already fled, looking back into the past; they would ask Tarian: 'Do you remember?' and he became a face they knew, possibly a face they had loved. A brother, an uncle, a childhood playmate. They would ask if he recalled that day by the river, that moment in the woods. Before they went wherever the departed go, they drifted into the past and Tarian let them take him, too.
Tarian with the deep, serious eyes and a face set in granite would smile a little, something in him breaking: 'How could I forget?'
He can nearly feel Tiercel's disappointment as it hangs heavy in the air. The older stallion doesn't blame him; if Tarian had returned from whatever horrible place that the dun has, he wouldn't want to be greeted by himself, either. For a moment, the gray thinks of dazzling Altissima and his jaw sets firmly. Even if he were to be on the brink of Death, it is not her he should consider. It is Loess.
His blue eyes watch the other stallion, spying some kind of visible battle playing out across his gold-and-navy face.
The other speaks and he nods in acknowledgment of it. @[Tiercel]. His steps are unsteady as he draws away from the water but he finds the ground. Each step he takes is one away from Death and whatever the dunskin needs, the Champion is ready to offer.
"Many took shelter in the hills towards the East," Tarian says, offering a place to start their search. (The location was ironic, given the history between Pangea and Loess.) Those hills had offered secluded canyons to hide in from the monsters while still being near enough to water and some forage to survive. He flares his wings partially, stretching them before settling them easily against his silver sides. "The Queen included," Tarian adds, remembering a ledge that she seemed to favor. "If we can't find her, Lady Oceane will know where to look."
Tarian stepped onto the battlefield again and again, hurling himself into the slaughter and carnage. He didn't care.
And yet, for each fight he fought, there was always an after.
A moment where he would stand near the dying; wondering why he stood and they had fallen. In those quiet moments - (or they should be, though there is little peace to found around strewn innards and death cries) - the silver pegasus learned that he could become whatever they needed. They would look at him with some part of their soul already fled, looking back into the past; they would ask Tarian: 'Do you remember?' and he became a face they knew, possibly a face they had loved. A brother, an uncle, a childhood playmate. They would ask if he recalled that day by the river, that moment in the woods. Before they went wherever the departed go, they drifted into the past and Tarian let them take him, too.
Tarian with the deep, serious eyes and a face set in granite would smile a little, something in him breaking: 'How could I forget?'
He can nearly feel Tiercel's disappointment as it hangs heavy in the air. The older stallion doesn't blame him; if Tarian had returned from whatever horrible place that the dun has, he wouldn't want to be greeted by himself, either. For a moment, the gray thinks of dazzling Altissima and his jaw sets firmly. Even if he were to be on the brink of Death, it is not her he should consider. It is Loess.
His blue eyes watch the other stallion, spying some kind of visible battle playing out across his gold-and-navy face.
The other speaks and he nods in acknowledgment of it. @[Tiercel]. His steps are unsteady as he draws away from the water but he finds the ground. Each step he takes is one away from Death and whatever the dunskin needs, the Champion is ready to offer.
"Many took shelter in the hills towards the East," Tarian says, offering a place to start their search. (The location was ironic, given the history between Pangea and Loess.) Those hills had offered secluded canyons to hide in from the monsters while still being near enough to water and some forage to survive. He flares his wings partially, stretching them before settling them easily against his silver sides. "The Queen included," Tarian adds, remembering a ledge that she seemed to favor. "If we can't find her, Lady Oceane will know where to look."