Don't look at me, I'm only breathing. Don't look at me, I'm indiscreet.
He remembers the voice, the waves… the feeling of the emaciated maw that brushed his head: he recalls the dark fur and blackened skin… the bones and barnacles of a creature arisen from the depths. Her breath was ragged, all the time, and he remembers the strange way she cared little and less for the world- a patient observer.
They walked, together and always, carried on through every land and every world, like invisible trespassers they moved through the vast whole of creation and watched as war came and ended… as sickness swept through the wheat and soy and rotted the farms and food from tables- as mothers buried children and orphans went starving and dying with parents in the graves.
Mordgeld, ah yes, Mordgeld had seen fit to let him stay and Nyctelios cared little and less for leaving, his dark eyes always on the ground or half awake and sleepily staring at the things around them. Shadows and corpses, bodies moving and the sounds of creatures who could not perceive anything more than the now of their existence.
Mother, oh God how she spoke of them, but she was never cruel to him… never cold, only ever did she speak to him of his perfections and blessings- of his strength for surviving what should have destroyed him. He minds it, minded it rather, and enjoys the puff and compliment; but he cannot accept it… no, not yet. There had, after all, been another- Brazen… a voice, a glimmer, another in the world who lived and experienced, yet?
She was silent.
Had she forgotten him? Had he forgotten her? Had time passed between the pair strangely? He thinks on it, recognizes that… in all these years, he had forgotten- he had ignored her.
To this end he pauses, stops and looks around: the chocolate fur smattered by patches of black points and his lighter mane and tail blew as the warmblood remained where he was… taller than the grass and by far larger than most. With a solemn bow of his head, Nyctelios finds himself peering at the earth… staring at the grass and nettle- his ears flicking to the sound of water beyond the heavier brush.
Lifting his maw and slowly rationalizing his location he blinked several times over before finding himself finally realizing… he was alone. Curious, he turned, and his gaze fell to footsteps and to the earth- staring at the breakaway where Mordgeld’s hooves and his own bent and departed one another. Panic, in the smallest way, surfaced; but he remained steady enough- looking and noting the birds and their feathers… the clouds and all the dismal sky before the onslaught of storm and thunder. Though he moves his lips to speak, his voice is absent, a whispered breath instead fills the silence.
