Assailant
Unlike the dappled stallion, his time to reminisce is far more limited as his own flashbacks are far more vague, more muddied by time. Perhaps that is a testament to how unremarkable his past life had truly been. Still, the memory of Demise is one that has not fully faded from his mind. Most of the physical details are gone, but the senses and the emotions still linger. While he cannot picture how she looked, he can remember the feel of her when she pressed that obscured body against him. He knows they tried to stir up trouble wherever they went, but he cannot recall any significant events (or if there even were any) from their years together.
Surprisingly, even though he had never spent much time with their children, he can still recall their names. Occasionally, he wonders what became of them, what sort of lives they led in his absence. He supposes that there is a chance that their descendants may still survive in this present day, but he knows that it’s unlikely he would recognize them, nor they him. Even names would likely be useless, given how long ago even his last child had been born.
And yet, as he looks upon Everclear, there is an element of familiarity in the younger male’s face. Of course, it could merely be that they are of similar breeding; but something tugs at the back of his mind, tells him that there is another reason. He nods slightly, acknowledging the forgiving nature of the grey’s words. The nod turns to a tilt when he offers a vague recognition of Assailant as well.
“I haven’t met that many others recently, so it’s not likely to have been within the last few years. But I was never really the type to make long-lasting connections when I was young, so a lot of names and faces have slipped through the cracks in the time since. I suppose it’s still possible if you are of a certain age, as I am.”
He is fairly confident that his assumption is correct, that Everclear has also received the gift (if one can call it that) of a long life. The thought gives him pause, making him wonder just how long lives such as these might go on, if there is ever an end to it, that they might join those that they had once cared for so long ago.
He shakes his head to clear his mind before the thoughts become even more morbid. He refocuses on Everclear, so many questions beginning to form on the tip of his tongue. Where to even start? Rather than wait for the other to respond, he merely plunges forward with a bit of his own story.
“My prime was in the days of true kings and queens, when the lands were divided more clearly than they are today and wars were far more prevalent. I never served a king or queen, but I maintained a herd on lands controlled by what was known as the Chamber of Evil back then.”
There is no sentimentality in his voice as he relays this information, just the flatness of stating bare facts. All the while, he watches for Everclear’s reactions, looking for any indication that he might actually know the Chamber as it had once been, rather than remembering it as a vague part of Beqanna’s history.
All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware
--Martin Buber
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Everclear