i am the mace, the map, the fall and the high
He had torn himself raggedly from Nerine early that morning, launching himself into a reckless drive across the land. He had felt trapped, though he couldn’t say why. His thoughts had scratched across deeply etched scars he didn’t want to acknowledge, and so he had left. He had given himself over to something distracting. Something that would pull him from the wretched prison of his own mind.
When he finally settled in the meadow, his breaths had heaved from his lungs, billowing in the cold air around his face. The weight of the snow beneath his legs had dragged him into exhaustion, but there had been pleasure in the pain of his abused muscles and skin torn ruthlessly from bone.
Slowly his breaths had calmed, and now he stands in the midst of the snow-blanketed meadow. Blood and sweat have frozen against his skin, betraying his wild disregard from earlier that morning. The tender skin had not been able to hold up under such misuse, though his bones have nearly stopped growing as his immortality settles. One day soon they ragged edges might finally be strong enough to hold fast, but not quite yet.
He isn’t paying attention to his surroundings, so the nicker that sounds behind him draws his attention around with an abrupt ferocity. It settles when he spots the star-faced mare loping to a halt nearby. He tilts his head as he studies, rising curiosity remaining undisguised. Her throaty greeting brings a smirk to his lips as he glances at the sparkling snow around them before returning his gaze to her.
“Indeed,” he replies, his own voice a low rumble. His smirk widens as he quirks one brow at her. “Who says I’m enjoying it?”
@rosemary