Breeding seasons was almost loathsome to him. Almost, because in some sense it was the only season that made perfect sense to him. When the horses around him acted like horses and not stark raving mad creatures who wove lives and love and deceit for fun. They were primal, and that is something that Zeik can fully understand. He understands it now, soaring high above the meadow that is his home, beating his blue-grey wings in powerful arcs until he’s so immersed in the clouds that he cannot see them. The falcon-horse closes his round, candescent eyes and stops flying, simply letting his wings go limp so that he can fall backwards into the air. His aerodynamic body takes to the fall like a fish to water, and he opens his eyes to see the world spinning wildly out of control. He plummets, a controlled sort of madness, and then moments before the impact he flings his appendages open to catch the drift of air waiting for him and he soars, gloriously, over the heads of those who are too preoccupied to care.
This, this is the life that Zeik so enjoys. The life of flight, of freedom, of solitude. The happy little raptor flies away from the immediate gathering, drifting down over an interesting cobalt blue mare who lifts her muzzle to the sky and calls out for company. Despite himself, he understands her mood, and the falcon drops to the grass. There, he shifts, body spreading until it solidifies to take the shape of a blue roan stallion. He doesn’t know why, but he calls out to her, a shrill response that mirrors her excitement. For the first time in … forever, Zeik feels renewed.
He gazes at her, watching her approach with tepid curiosity. Young thing that she is, he can understand her trepidation at meeting a stranger, but he offers his nose to hers in a polite gesture. His ears prop forward and he settles, head tipping curiously to the side. “I’m Zeik.” He says, almost out of breath from his sudden transformation. “Who are you, and where did you come from?”
Everything we are and used to be is buried and gone