The sound of the volcano often lulls Warrick to sleep. As smoke and ash tumble carelessly from its glowing top, the stallion finds himself matching his own breathing with the gentle rumble of lava gushing slowly from the depths. He has become rather attached to the fiery mountain and has begun to savor the intense heat that it brings, feeling desperately cold and frigid when away from its scorching breath for too long. When sleep would find him (which was incredibly rare), Warrick would most likely be tucked away quietly near a sluice of molten rock. It was no coincidence that the navy and bay stallion kept returning here every day, long before dusk, where the thickness of smoke conceals any attempt at seeing the night’s sky. He would try, sometimes, to stargaze and map the constellations like he so often did when he was younger (who was he to pretend that everything was the same?), but he found that the air nearest the volcano would begin to sting and burn his eyes and he began to use the pain as a buffer to keep him from searching the galaxies in pointless longing.
Even then, with the night sky hidden from him and the groaning of the mountain as his lullaby, Warrick’s slumber was always fitful and restless; often intermittent with nightmares and terrors that kept him from truly resting.
Warrick is unsure as to why he has decided to venture from Tephra today. Maybe it was the fact that spring was in the air and he wished to see the other realms of Beqanna as fresh and rich with vegetation as Tephra was year-round. It was midday (Warrick never would let himself stand with an open sky above him unless the sun was high in the sky) and he could hear the soft thrumming of bees lazily bumbling in the long grasses as well as the wind twisting through the meadow. The bright green tendrils of grass sway gently against his ink blue legs and stomach, making his auburn skin prick. He sighs, almost comfortably, as the warmth of the sunlight touches his back with gentle fingertips – it reminds him of Tephra, though the heat was not nearly intense enough to match that of his precious volcano, his silent and vigilant guard.
He opens his eyes suddenly, brilliant irises of cobalt shimmering blazingly against mahogany lids and black forelock. He had tried to find sleep here, but he is not surprised when he is unable to do so. Closed eyes meant darkness, and darkness meant he would dream of them.
Warrick doesn’t move – not yet – and lets his gaze quickly survey the world around him. He had left the security of the volcano and his well-charted lands of Tephra (he quickly had mapped his new home and learned every path throughout), finding himself in the midst of the lush and open field. The last time he left Tephra, he met an extremely interesting equine that he thought he could possibly call friend if he was ever to see her again. Warrick snorts softly, indigo nostrils flaring as he did so. He lowers his head and begins to chew at the green stalks of grass beneath him absentmindedly, though his mind was whirring.
warrick