Meyer does not mind much of anything. It is easier to retreat into himself, to keep his mouth shut and to do as he is bid. A young colt, perhaps just shy of a few years (though no one in his life thus far has bothered to help him keep track of such a small thing); and a small thing he is. Long legs slicked in a mud-caked black, a stark contrast to the warm amber and nutmegs of his unmarked hide (it is easy enough to disguise the consequences), he is built for speed and stamina rather than brute strength. He tosses his forelock to one side, ducking his head to cast a furtive glance into a particular sinister bit of shadows, his skin crawling over gaunt ribs with the anticipation of finding Niklas' dark chuckle in amongst them. A beat, and then another passes and he holds his breath until the wind shifts and the threat is gone - for the moment, at least.
The trees sway with the vibrant scents of summer, drawn into a familiar ritual of give and take. He enjoys it, the feel of the sun dappling his back, the warm touch. The grass underfoot and at the back of his tongue – the aloneness. He wonders how long it will last, brown eyes clouded in thought. How long before they come looking for him? Not all of the lessons learned from the dark magician who had raised him had been bad … but his “brother” (even now, he loathes to call him such because somehow he knows that the affectation should hold some different meaning) is ill-controlled, even by his father, and he loves nothing more than to use the useful. And, unfortunately for him, Meyer is one of the most useful.
As he moves further inland, drifting away from the river, the trees begin to thin out. The temperature rises steadily and its early afternoon when he finally stops, sweat darkening his coat. He sighs, a low rattling sound. What if he never grows accustomed to being on his own? The sound of a squirrel shuffling through the undergrowth pulls him from his brooding. He pins his ears when it gets close, snaking his head out and gnashing his teeth. It was not that they all belonged to Set, but the potential is always there and he is so incredibly tired of the shackles … He stomps and snorts, bucking and squealing in a wild fit that leaves him heaving and drenched and glaring.
The trees sway with the vibrant scents of summer, drawn into a familiar ritual of give and take. He enjoys it, the feel of the sun dappling his back, the warm touch. The grass underfoot and at the back of his tongue – the aloneness. He wonders how long it will last, brown eyes clouded in thought. How long before they come looking for him? Not all of the lessons learned from the dark magician who had raised him had been bad … but his “brother” (even now, he loathes to call him such because somehow he knows that the affectation should hold some different meaning) is ill-controlled, even by his father, and he loves nothing more than to use the useful. And, unfortunately for him, Meyer is one of the most useful.
As he moves further inland, drifting away from the river, the trees begin to thin out. The temperature rises steadily and its early afternoon when he finally stops, sweat darkening his coat. He sighs, a low rattling sound. What if he never grows accustomed to being on his own? The sound of a squirrel shuffling through the undergrowth pulls him from his brooding. He pins his ears when it gets close, snaking his head out and gnashing his teeth. It was not that they all belonged to Set, but the potential is always there and he is so incredibly tired of the shackles … He stomps and snorts, bucking and squealing in a wild fit that leaves him heaving and drenched and glaring.
@[Aela]