" I'd Rather Die Young , "
He misses the Valley, as much as he can miss anything.
The Valley was his calling, his true home. The kingdom had called to him from the day he was born, and when he had first arrived in the territory, he'd known that it would always be his home. It had been a barren, empty land when he had first arrived—the leader of the kingdom had been long gone, and their followers had since drifted off to find new homes or just faded away into the shadows—but he had fallen in love with the pine forests and the steep mountain cliffs that towered overhead. As far as he knows, there is no kingdom quite like it in this new land that the fairies had created, and he's been wandering ever since.
The autumn air is brisk and the first taste of winter is on the wind, but Oxytocin finds that he does not mind the cold as much as he used to. He hails—unbeknownst to him—from a long line of rulers, the kind that are not shaken by extreme temperatures, and he has long since stopped minding winter so much. He is far from embracing it, but he nevertheless has grown used to it in his long lifetime. When you are alone in your own head for so long, petty things such as the changing of seasons become unimportant, irrelevant.
He is along the bank of a river today, in another new land that was a stranger to the Beqanna of the past. It is clearly a common meeting ground—horses are all around, flirting and fighting and everything in between—and he almost turns away, spurning the idea of socialization. He has been alone so long; let him stay that way.
Regardless, his dark hooves carry him forward, and the momentum has him sinking into the muddy bank of the river almost before he realizes it. He stops with one foot in the water, sparing a glance towards his reflection. He is a mess to behold, with his mane tangled and dirty, and he looks nothing like the ruler he used to be, but here he is all the same.
He looks old, grizzled, rough. Immortal or not, age will catch up to you eventually.
The Valley was his calling, his true home. The kingdom had called to him from the day he was born, and when he had first arrived in the territory, he'd known that it would always be his home. It had been a barren, empty land when he had first arrived—the leader of the kingdom had been long gone, and their followers had since drifted off to find new homes or just faded away into the shadows—but he had fallen in love with the pine forests and the steep mountain cliffs that towered overhead. As far as he knows, there is no kingdom quite like it in this new land that the fairies had created, and he's been wandering ever since.
The autumn air is brisk and the first taste of winter is on the wind, but Oxytocin finds that he does not mind the cold as much as he used to. He hails—unbeknownst to him—from a long line of rulers, the kind that are not shaken by extreme temperatures, and he has long since stopped minding winter so much. He is far from embracing it, but he nevertheless has grown used to it in his long lifetime. When you are alone in your own head for so long, petty things such as the changing of seasons become unimportant, irrelevant.
He is along the bank of a river today, in another new land that was a stranger to the Beqanna of the past. It is clearly a common meeting ground—horses are all around, flirting and fighting and everything in between—and he almost turns away, spurning the idea of socialization. He has been alone so long; let him stay that way.
Regardless, his dark hooves carry him forward, and the momentum has him sinking into the muddy bank of the river almost before he realizes it. He stops with one foot in the water, sparing a glance towards his reflection. He is a mess to behold, with his mane tangled and dirty, and he looks nothing like the ruler he used to be, but here he is all the same.
He looks old, grizzled, rough. Immortal or not, age will catch up to you eventually.