we carry these things inside that no one else can see
they hold us down like anchors; they drown us out at sea

The field was quiet today—the few horses there mingling quietly amongst themselves, the breeze soft and the sun cool. Autumn was just beginning to fall upon Beqanna, and Magnus found himself thrilled to see the changing of the seasons. He enjoyed the crisp bite in the air—the changing color of leaves. It brought him a deep satisfaction to walk through the Gates and see its usual pastels turn to browns and auburns.

A new season; a new chance for the kingdom to rise again.

It was enough to bring a strange quiet to his soul, the golden stallion walking along the edge of the field with his eyes half-closed, his pace leisurely. It was an appreciated reprieve from the turmoil that he had been experiencing in the last few days: the hours of bitter fury and anxious regret. It was a wonderful chance for him to simply shake off the political upset and go back to his roots: hard work, solidarity.

Becca’s scent caught him by surprise, the smell familiar, and he found that he was moving toward it before he realized what he was doing. “Becca, how are you?” he called out when he was a few yards away, his handsome face breaking into a grin. He took several large steps toward his, his pace ranging and wide. But when he got closer, his face fell, mouth instantly pulling into a frown. “What’s wrong?” He felt it in his gut, and, unsettled, he came to a stop, ears flicking back and forth atop his head in confusion.

magnus