Low; Spink; any

[Krigare]

His head was high, chest puffed out with the air he held captive in his lungs. After a few moments he released it, relishing in the burn that wafted in his throat. Dark green hues focused on the scene before him, he had wandered upon a meadow. Equines of all types floating about it, mindlessly wandering onward much like he. 


 The last thing he had remembered was being in Tephra. Something about it made him feel trapped, like the ash that wafted in the lands air was suffocating him slowly. Eating him from inside out. What happened in between the time when he was laying by the coast, and now. He did not know.

What the dark stallion did know, was that he was here now. All 18 hands of him was standing upon the hill, eyes narrowed to slits, ears pinned flat against his curved neck. He trotted restlessly in place, trying to decide on what he wanted to do now. He stepped forward, nostrils flaring as he did so. The vines at his feet pulling him backward, a ripping sensation from the thorns they possessed racing through him.

Then he stopped.

The burning that had come to him in Tephra returning. His lungs constricted , throat closing with the force of his movements. With anger he pushed forward , lungs reluctantly relaxing as he trugged onward, his dark pelt lathered with sweat. Silvery scars mapping his legs opened as he pushed forward, not minding the blinding pain of the thorns that dug into his skin. 

 In all his time of living, Krigare had been strong. He had never been one to break down with emotion, or back down from a fight. Though now, as he walked through the thorns, towards the meadow, he felt lost. Defeated, worn and tired.

He was utterly and completely alone. He hadn't known this would affect him so much, but after months and months, and months of traveling by himself he broke down. Tearing open his skin as he pushed himself to a limit he hadnt know existed before. 

He was used to running for long periods of time, but days on end was not meant for him. Days without rest , or stopping to eat, days where he wouldnt take care of himself. 

It was going bad for the stallion quickly.


His head shook as he reached the meadow, forelock rolling into his forest colored eyes. The grass clung to his bleeding legs, a sting flying through the mauled skin. He shuddered, head turning to take his first look at the slashes. 

He merely stood straighter at the sight of them, head raising once more. 

"Ser fuerte es herir." 

He growled, eyes scanning the meadow once more. Many of the horses he had seen before had left now, the moon pulling the sun out of the sky, stars beginning to twinkle int he purple haze of the night. The bay fell silent, dark tendrils curling around his blood stuck legs. 




(translation :  to be strong is to hurt)

[Ashley]

Ashley was the kind of man who looked upon the world and saw it for what it was--at least, he had been. Being able to look out and see the coming of man and his past, present, and ultimately his future had been one of his favorite things about his former abilities. Being born to power made him a shoe-in to taking a kingdom--made him irresistable to ladies, and to men. They either wanted to be him, or bed him. And he had had his fair share of lovers and moments in the spotlight.

This new version of Ashley was one he did not recognize in the reflection of the water. The red duns stallion who had been born to so much, and raised by a King to take his place was not the man who was standing here weak and bereft of all power. He was cracked, his bones weakening with every step as he moved along through the meadow. Away from the coastline. Away from Ischia.

He could not venture into the forest--his mother still inhabited there and he had no intention of ever running into her again. Besides which, it was far too enclosed for his liking. The shadows that played upon the ground cast down from the trees was haunting in a way that stirred the old man's soul. He didn't like it. He wanted rest. He wanted peace.

He missed the ocean. The smell of the salt in the air and the soft push of the sand underneath his hooves. He had it on good authority that his newest creation hated the sand--loathed it to the point where he was avoiding his new home at all costs. Maniacally, this made Ashley quiet happy in his own way... because it was the sole comfort he had in the little colt that bore what was left of his magic.

To the side, a very tall lone male looks over the lumbering crowds. He is new--his scent does not mingle with any creatures that Ashley has ever met, nor is he descended from any of them. Without his magic, Ashley has only his wits to recommend him--and he has never been a fool.

"Pathetic, isn't it? They play with social graces, never seeking any higher thought than what lays directly in front of them. As for you..." Ashley looks down, seeing the blood stained flesh that wrapped around his stockings. "It looks like you've traveled a great distance, but have seen better days. My name is Ashley."

[Krigare]

He tried his best to treat the wounds, dry tongue flicking out unto the burning flesh. It merely agitated them more. Sending him into a fit of mumbled curses, and a series of him stumbling over himself. He righted himself quickly, shoulders rolling backwards to release the tension. A groan 
escaped him, muscles long tightened slowly but surely relaxing beneath his skin.

Krigare didnt notice the dun until he was close to him, speaking to him for a matter of fact. The voice struck a chord int he silence that drifted around him. The grufness of it letting the stud know it was a male. His ears perked only slightly at the words before returning to their position on his neck. He was not in the mood for company, much less talking to a stranger.  With a sigh his jaw fell slack.

" As much as I would love to agree with you sir, I am not one for conversation." 

He rasped, eyes never leaving the scene before the two of them. He was so tired, he felt as though he could collapse here, to lay on the soft grass below him and never rise seemed like a heaven far from the bay's reach. After a moment he began to laugh. The rumble of it shaking his entire frame. His head lowered with the force of it, bones cracking with the motions. 

" I have seen days you could only dream of." 

In his youth he had at least, rolling plains, lush grasses, emerald oceans , and now he was here. Talking to a stallion who didnt know him at all, standing (bleeding) in a field full of horses who were so blissfully unaware of how simple their lives were.

" I am Krigare," 

He offered his name finally, the words rolling off of his tongue slowly. Exhaustion rimming his throat. Weather or not the dun stallion would choose to stay was still up in the air, much like the proud stallions head. A brow raised as horses began to drift away into the night, most likely returning home. To safety. 

Yet here he stood still, awaiting the others reply.