that day even the sun was afraid of you and the weight you carried
Of all the personal tragedies that have marked Firion’s life, his parents have never been one of them. He was the son of a love match, an impossible thing, and he had never known anything but the fact that he was wanted. He had been raised wild and free in the Hyaline mountains, watched over by parents who had taken the time whenever he had desired their attention. Even his father, as cruel and cutting as he was with all but his mother, had taught him to hunt. How to use the sharp canines gifted to him from birth. Had imparted on him a wicked sense of humor and undying appreciation for sarcasm.
And his mother?
Firion would go to the mat for her, whenever it was needed.
Instead, his failures come from what he kept from them. The things his life had stripped away from him. Taking the golden boy who had every creature comfort and cursing him before damning him.
He rolls his shoulders, as if to remove the irritant of his thoughts, before picking up the pace and moving through the meadow. The headache that often built through the day was beginning to dull and, in turn, his mood was indeed improving. In response, he can feel his shadow companion stretching out and batting at his legs, pleased to see the dark cloud above Firion’s head easing into something less frightening.
Smirking down, Firion nearly misses the glowing boy and the specter by his side—and were it not for the faint glow, perhaps he might have. But something rings through him in response. A recognition that he has no name for, a bell that tolls inside his mind, and he pauses, hoof breaking a branch beneath him. At the sound, the colt turns on him and Firion settles his weight more firmly. He quickly casts a golden gaze over him, taking note of the coloring and the glow, the ghosts by his side like those his father calls.
It’s enough to make him wonder.
Firion is not an idiot enough to think that his antics during breeding season would not have consequences. He knew that what was a moment of pleasure or a run-in with a stranger could lead to…something. He had just never stopped to think that he would come face-to-face with it. Unwilling to dive into the boy’s mind and dredge up the face of his mother to confirm and unsure about how to go about tracing his own lineage, following the thumbprint of the one in front of him, he just frowns and says simply: “Me.”
so you saluted every ghost you've ever prayed to and then buried it where bones are buried
@Fyr