03-20-2021, 11:59 PM
Once he has made the decision, confidence swells like the tide within him. He is not one to hesitate once the choice is made; he sets his shoulders to the task and readies himself for death. Because that is what the fairy promises them, of course. That is always where he was headed (where most of them are headed, but especially him). His family tree has been twisted and gnarled by the Reaper’s hand so many times that it is only natural that his branch would be next. As Volos stares back at the yellow-green eyes of the fairy, his own are not full of resentment or regret at knowing he was meeting Death far sooner than he expected to. They only harden with his resolute certainty.
The Afterlife rushes over those set shoulders like water as he passes through. It doesn’t tingle like he thought it might. It doesn’t burn like he hoped it wouldn’t. But there is a difference to him, to his very atoms, even, that he cannot name. He doesn’t feel dead, not really, but he doesn’t feel as vibrantly and wholly alive, either.
It is a strange sort of existence somewhere in between.
The muted earth on the Other Side is suddenly illuminated at the raising of the fairy’s hoof. He is told to be quiet, to pass by unnoticed as he makes his way along the path she has laid for him by her light. It is only then that the colt realizes he will be doing so alone. The others who chose to distract have not made it to the same place as he in the land of the dead, it seems. He will be by himself. Volos is not used to doing things alone. He’s had a built-in co-conspirator his entire life in his twin; he’s not sure what he’ll do without someone by his side. But he knows he must. The darkness cannot linger. The monsters cannot stay. Though there is strength in numbers, he must now believe in the power of one.
Hope lightens his feet as he moves away from the fairy after a small smile her way. He will do his very best. After all, there is no worry he will die trying - he’s very much already dead.
Volos follows the path deeper into the unknown. Just ahead, ferns brush up alongside of the brightened road, bending over and creating eerie shadows like snakes on the ground. He gulps but swallows his doubts and forges ahead. The fronds reach over and trail across his back as he passes them. Then, a firmer touch that cannot be anything but flesh. He whirls around and sees the grey figure poking through the dense undergrowth. <b>”Come here, stay awhile. I know you.”</b>. It’s a silvery mare that he’d met once on the shores of Ischia. She’d told him she knew him then, too, but she’d been alive then. Here, he isn’t sure. There is a look to her eyes that he doesn’t trust here. Something dark and sinister in the way she stares.
Volos runs ahead several paces as quietly as he can away from his dead grandmother. He is unnerved but not completely undeterred. There is work to be done. The path leads him further on. A small voice does, too. He startles when he finally sees the colt swaying beside the path ahead. He is still as green as he’d been in life, but it’s a shade too sickly. “Baloss!” Volos moves in, smiling already. But the colt turns and half of his face is caved in. Or clawed in, really. He remembers how they had wrestled and sparred in the playground. He remembers how he had told Baloss he would be a great warrior and protect everyone one day. And now? What has happened to his good friend? Where was his protector?
Volos leaves the lost soul to circle around. Around and around alongside the path. He wonders if that is his sad fate. A life lost too early to the dark.
There is a fork in the road he finds. It is clear he needs to make a decision. The sound of water is like home, and he runs, screaming and yelling for all he is worth down in. He pounds the ground with his hooves, distracting as best he can.
The Afterlife rushes over those set shoulders like water as he passes through. It doesn’t tingle like he thought it might. It doesn’t burn like he hoped it wouldn’t. But there is a difference to him, to his very atoms, even, that he cannot name. He doesn’t feel dead, not really, but he doesn’t feel as vibrantly and wholly alive, either.
It is a strange sort of existence somewhere in between.
The muted earth on the Other Side is suddenly illuminated at the raising of the fairy’s hoof. He is told to be quiet, to pass by unnoticed as he makes his way along the path she has laid for him by her light. It is only then that the colt realizes he will be doing so alone. The others who chose to distract have not made it to the same place as he in the land of the dead, it seems. He will be by himself. Volos is not used to doing things alone. He’s had a built-in co-conspirator his entire life in his twin; he’s not sure what he’ll do without someone by his side. But he knows he must. The darkness cannot linger. The monsters cannot stay. Though there is strength in numbers, he must now believe in the power of one.
Hope lightens his feet as he moves away from the fairy after a small smile her way. He will do his very best. After all, there is no worry he will die trying - he’s very much already dead.
Volos follows the path deeper into the unknown. Just ahead, ferns brush up alongside of the brightened road, bending over and creating eerie shadows like snakes on the ground. He gulps but swallows his doubts and forges ahead. The fronds reach over and trail across his back as he passes them. Then, a firmer touch that cannot be anything but flesh. He whirls around and sees the grey figure poking through the dense undergrowth. <b>”Come here, stay awhile. I know you.”</b>. It’s a silvery mare that he’d met once on the shores of Ischia. She’d told him she knew him then, too, but she’d been alive then. Here, he isn’t sure. There is a look to her eyes that he doesn’t trust here. Something dark and sinister in the way she stares.
Volos runs ahead several paces as quietly as he can away from his dead grandmother. He is unnerved but not completely undeterred. There is work to be done. The path leads him further on. A small voice does, too. He startles when he finally sees the colt swaying beside the path ahead. He is still as green as he’d been in life, but it’s a shade too sickly. “Baloss!” Volos moves in, smiling already. But the colt turns and half of his face is caved in. Or clawed in, really. He remembers how they had wrestled and sparred in the playground. He remembers how he had told Baloss he would be a great warrior and protect everyone one day. And now? What has happened to his good friend? Where was his protector?
Volos leaves the lost soul to circle around. Around and around alongside the path. He wonders if that is his sad fate. A life lost too early to the dark.
There is a fork in the road he finds. It is clear he needs to make a decision. The sound of water is like home, and he runs, screaming and yelling for all he is worth down in. He pounds the ground with his hooves, distracting as best he can.