Everclear
EVERCLEAR
Everclear has been in similar straits before, mind overcast by the swirling brew of uneasy thoughts, of worries far beyond his control and hindrances of a more tempestuous nature.
How many years of his life had he squandered here in the Meadow pining after a mare that had never looked at him twice? He had fallen for Prague when they were both young, when her crown was still new and when he was much too small for her to consider. He had never minced words with her, though – she was well aware of his affections and continuously rebuked them.
Thus he had devoted himself to other causes.
Thinking perhaps that bettering himself would catch her eye, he tried rising through the ranks of a kingdom and earning himself a title. The problem had been finding a place he’d fit, somewhere that felt right, and he’d eventually found himself in a slump. The Valley was his home then and it had seemed so impossible to maintain a foothold there.
But Heaven’s Gates – there he had found a true home. He had found love and devotion and, while they had not fully accepted him, he felt secure there.
Until the very same Prague, now gifted with magic and the support of others, sought to dethrone him and his queen. Only then had her hold over him truly vanished. He had seen her as a threat and an adversary while he himself had become, at least in his mind, an equal to her. Heaven herself truly knows how strongly he had tried to avoid the conflict, to divert the impending raid into more peaceable talks.
If only they had been true angels of Heaven then, like Spyglass so fondly considered their members. It is a fond light in his memory, the way she addressed everyone in the kingdom as equals, as ‘angels’ – it had been an uplifting notion. Perhaps, had they truly possessed such ethereal powers, they could have bonded their hopes together, they could have instilled a sense of togetherness and strength against their foes. He, as their seraphim king, could have guided them to a cleaner victory and perhaps the war that had torn their home apart would not still trouble his mind as darkly as it does.
Such wishful what-ifs and never-weres are whisking through his thoughts today. What if he had had the power to convince them all that he was devoted to the Gates? That he had shirked his previous Valley home and devoted himself to the purity expected of a member of the Light.
That he, too, was worthy of the title ‘angel.’
Is it that wish which had led the fairy to grant him the halo of light that now crowns his head?
He is equally distracted by his thoughts as Assailant seems to be. Everclear meanders slowly through the rather empty Meadow where he often comes to think, happier to bring such pensive moods to a neutral ground rather than sullying his beloved home with sour memories. But as he moves, so too does the darker, winged stallion, until their paths converge and, nearly, their bodies.
The dappled gray’s dark head jolts up reflexively and he turns his shoulder toward the would-be collision, but they both have acted in time to avoid anything physical. He sighs softly with a faint smile and nods to the other’s explanation.
“Think nothing of it,” he says brusquely in return. It is a strange sort of coincidence that two of the few horses in the whole Meadow should nearly bump into one another, though, and for that mere observation alone, Everclear also lingers.
The dark-coated stallion offers his name and poses the general question of ‘who might you be?’ and Everclear shifts a little, casually relaxing from his prior stroll. “I am Everclear,” he responds amicably. “Your name is familiar…” He tilts his light-wreathed head in curiosity. “Perhaps we have crossed paths before?”
How many years of his life had he squandered here in the Meadow pining after a mare that had never looked at him twice? He had fallen for Prague when they were both young, when her crown was still new and when he was much too small for her to consider. He had never minced words with her, though – she was well aware of his affections and continuously rebuked them.
Thus he had devoted himself to other causes.
Thinking perhaps that bettering himself would catch her eye, he tried rising through the ranks of a kingdom and earning himself a title. The problem had been finding a place he’d fit, somewhere that felt right, and he’d eventually found himself in a slump. The Valley was his home then and it had seemed so impossible to maintain a foothold there.
But Heaven’s Gates – there he had found a true home. He had found love and devotion and, while they had not fully accepted him, he felt secure there.
Until the very same Prague, now gifted with magic and the support of others, sought to dethrone him and his queen. Only then had her hold over him truly vanished. He had seen her as a threat and an adversary while he himself had become, at least in his mind, an equal to her. Heaven herself truly knows how strongly he had tried to avoid the conflict, to divert the impending raid into more peaceable talks.
If only they had been true angels of Heaven then, like Spyglass so fondly considered their members. It is a fond light in his memory, the way she addressed everyone in the kingdom as equals, as ‘angels’ – it had been an uplifting notion. Perhaps, had they truly possessed such ethereal powers, they could have bonded their hopes together, they could have instilled a sense of togetherness and strength against their foes. He, as their seraphim king, could have guided them to a cleaner victory and perhaps the war that had torn their home apart would not still trouble his mind as darkly as it does.
Such wishful what-ifs and never-weres are whisking through his thoughts today. What if he had had the power to convince them all that he was devoted to the Gates? That he had shirked his previous Valley home and devoted himself to the purity expected of a member of the Light.
That he, too, was worthy of the title ‘angel.’
Is it that wish which had led the fairy to grant him the halo of light that now crowns his head?
He is equally distracted by his thoughts as Assailant seems to be. Everclear meanders slowly through the rather empty Meadow where he often comes to think, happier to bring such pensive moods to a neutral ground rather than sullying his beloved home with sour memories. But as he moves, so too does the darker, winged stallion, until their paths converge and, nearly, their bodies.
The dappled gray’s dark head jolts up reflexively and he turns his shoulder toward the would-be collision, but they both have acted in time to avoid anything physical. He sighs softly with a faint smile and nods to the other’s explanation.
“Think nothing of it,” he says brusquely in return. It is a strange sort of coincidence that two of the few horses in the whole Meadow should nearly bump into one another, though, and for that mere observation alone, Everclear also lingers.
The dark-coated stallion offers his name and poses the general question of ‘who might you be?’ and Everclear shifts a little, casually relaxing from his prior stroll. “I am Everclear,” he responds amicably. “Your name is familiar…” He tilts his light-wreathed head in curiosity. “Perhaps we have crossed paths before?”
@assailant