I know this hurts (it was meant to); ANY

[magnus]

we all carry these things that no one else can see
they hold us down like anchors; they drown us out at sea

There are things about Ledger that remind him of himself: the gold-flecked eyes, the uncertainty, the quiet ways that he observes the world around him; however, there are more things that remind Magnus of Ledger’s mother, and that is something that brings a deep sadness to him, something gut-wrenching. And with it came the familiar: the guilt. It was as natural to him as the violence that always simmered in his veins, that ache for dark release that comes back to him slowly as death begins its slow release from his buckskin body. 

How odd to feel yourself coming back like waves upon the shore; to feel your personality filter back into your body through the coming seconds—and, with it, all of the burden of the past.

Not that he says these things to his son or the strange magician before them. They are tucked away in the corners of his mind, and he instead keeps his gaze neutral, picking up the protective stance of his son as the mare continues to approach them. Not that he needs protecting. He had been killed in almost the prime of his life and so he had come back in it. His body was still strong, the muscles ropy under his scarred coat—and he was growing stronger with each passing minute. As life flooded through him, he could feel it coming back to him and he almost groaned with the pleasure of it. It felt good to feel dangerous again.

So he takes a step forward, nodding almost imperceptibly to his son as if to let him know that he could handle it. This was not his first brush with magic, and he certainly wasn't intimidated by it. “Hurt is relative,” he says to the mare with a wolfish-smile, rolling his shoulders as the aches spread through him. There was small happiness with the pain; it meant that he was once again alive to relish it. “Although I do appreciate the offer.” He considers her for a second, almost allows her to leave so that he can have the moment with his son, but something stops him—something in his subconscious that he does not deny.

“You are welcome to stay,” he says in his rough voice, one corner of his lacerated lip rising into a half smile. “You look like the kind of mare who has good stories to tell, Camrynn.” His gold eyes flick toward his son before moving back to her. There was a curiosity gnawing at him, and he was not the kind of stallion who liked to let his curiosity go unfed. So he looks at her, hungry for something he didn't understand.

MAGNUS

once king. once general. once dead.