i'm on the wrong side of heaven, and the righteous side of hell
He doesn’t know why he comes here. The place holds nothing for him, save for bitter memories of a love lost. It was here that he had met Smolder, learned to love her, and then lost her in the same breath. The meadow had been their secret hideaway of sorts, a place where they could forget titles and alliances and all of the bullshit workings of their beloved kingdoms. He could still remember the way her breath had felt against his neck, and the way her skin had tasted between his lips. Sweet like lilac, but with a hint of smoke and ash. But as surely as the moon controls the ebb of the ocean tides, their former lives had caught up to them with a vengeance. He should not have been so stupid to realize that it would happen, but he’d been blinded by something far greater than himself. He’d given in to the illusion of love, only to come up empty handed and with a heart like granite.
But he comes anyways.
He comes into the meadow as quietly as the spring had slipped past winter. Almost unnoticeable, slipping through the trees and the shadows. Other horses grazed and chatted in their cliques, and for a moment he was envious of their easy conversation. But only for a moment. He would have nothing to say to any of them anyways. The black stallion was on a mission of solitude today. Today, he would simply enjoy different scenery, though in truth he missed his home. This place was nice in its own way, but it lacked the dark grandeur of the chamber that he was so accustomed to. It was more spacious and far less dense, the shadows less heavy. But while the snow still clung to the landscape at his home, here it was warm. The grasses were new and green and the trees showed promise of blooms to be. So he would enjoy it, despite the ghosts that peeked at him from behind the trees.
He is lost in his thoughts totally (and they are strange, rambling thoughts). He stays in the shadows on the forest, so he is somewhat startled when he comes upon a mare. Her coloring is the first thing he notices, followed by an impressive set of wings. But those are of little consequence, for she wears the same strained look on her face that he does. Clearly he’s wandered into something private, but he’s here now and sees little chance of a graceful exit. Stopping, he clears his throat, revealing his presence in the least intrusive way he knows how. Manners were something often lost on the old stallion, but he would try. “I seem to be intruding.” he said awkwardly. There were a million things he should probably say, but none of them were coming easily to his tongue. Chatting about the weather seemed to be quite possibly the dumbest thing he could do, so he refrained from that, thinking hard. “I sometimes come here to think too. But not very often. I’m Warship, by the way.” He didn’t ask for her name, and certainly wouldn’t blame her if she left without so much as a backwards glance.
warship
