02-28-2021, 12:10 PM
He isn’t sure why he is here.
When the world shown bright and his heart dared to place hope in a life where he was a father and husband to the queen of Nerine, relief became an emotion he could hold with warm hands. The large drafted male plodded near the dark queen with feathered feet and an adoring lavender eye till shortly after the son was born...then she had bid him goodbye under the very cloak of dark much like now.
He had felt confused, hurt. How could she have just wished him away without much more than the scent of her skin on their still skin warmed bed? He would not understand and never know. All he could do was raise his son and keep him safe until the day he too left.
Now the field. A place the homeless wandered, a land of naive young things wallowing away in their own destitute and frustration till something pretty came by and plucked them out of the dirt hovels. Murc was neither pretty nor a savior anymore. He is a large dark bastard, heavy in the neck and body but there is a small air of grace in his movements. The blood of Andalusian? Of Mustang? A muddle beast is all that can be truly recognized.
She is pretty in a world flooded by color and magic. The grey pallets of skin stretching over a refined bone body, his lavender eyes appreciated a light woman, and he attempts to not stare from across the field as he walks towards her. The lavender-grey eyes are beneath a thick fold of dark hair but he gives it a light toss so he may greet her properly. ”Alone then?” Conversation had not been a strength ever for him. The dark stallion shifts his gaze away politely, moving his wright from one leg to the other, ”me too.”, he adds in the gap of space between his words.
When the world shown bright and his heart dared to place hope in a life where he was a father and husband to the queen of Nerine, relief became an emotion he could hold with warm hands. The large drafted male plodded near the dark queen with feathered feet and an adoring lavender eye till shortly after the son was born...then she had bid him goodbye under the very cloak of dark much like now.
He had felt confused, hurt. How could she have just wished him away without much more than the scent of her skin on their still skin warmed bed? He would not understand and never know. All he could do was raise his son and keep him safe until the day he too left.
Now the field. A place the homeless wandered, a land of naive young things wallowing away in their own destitute and frustration till something pretty came by and plucked them out of the dirt hovels. Murc was neither pretty nor a savior anymore. He is a large dark bastard, heavy in the neck and body but there is a small air of grace in his movements. The blood of Andalusian? Of Mustang? A muddle beast is all that can be truly recognized.
She is pretty in a world flooded by color and magic. The grey pallets of skin stretching over a refined bone body, his lavender eyes appreciated a light woman, and he attempts to not stare from across the field as he walks towards her. The lavender-grey eyes are beneath a thick fold of dark hair but he gives it a light toss so he may greet her properly. ”Alone then?” Conversation had not been a strength ever for him. The dark stallion shifts his gaze away politely, moving his wright from one leg to the other, ”me too.”, he adds in the gap of space between his words.