So long, in fact, that much of the landscape he had once known was gone now. His beloved Tephra, his home, was nothing but rubble and ash, laid bare many moons ago. He had spoken to Warrick shortly before finding out about his father's untimely death. He vowed to be a champion of his home, to protect it, but instead he deserted it when things became too hard.
He was no champion, he was a coward.
Perhaps he was destined to do this...his father did the same thing, time and time gain. However, the boy of fire came back, though he was not sure what for. To heal his mother's broken heart? To find some semblance of humanity? He had merely survived the last decades, not truly lived. He was old, he was broken, and he decided now was better than never to try to live a life he'd be proud of. So, he came back to Beqanna, and now he stood in the meadow.
His father had brought him here a few times during his childhood, though they mainly stuck to the Tephran borders.
To be a good protector, Rou said, looking out towards the towering mountains. You must know every inch of the land. Not just your own.
Phoebus snorted. "Some protector you were." He whispers, rolling his eyes. And some protector I'd be...I don't even know where anything is anymore
Green grass pokes out haphazardly from the freshly fallen snow. Phoebus takes a deep breath and exhales, watching the tendrils of white vapor coil through the air and disappear. His father was dead, but perhaps his mother was still living? Maybe he had a sibling or two he didn't know about? He sighs, wondering if his mother would even remember him...it had been so long since he last saw her. Phoebus walks towards the creek, looking at his reflection in the frozen mirror.
He was much taller, standing a sturdy 16hh. His roan coat had grayed over the years, mostly evident around his mouth and eyes. Scars dotted his body where his armor wasn't as heavy - a particularly deep cut sliced down his eye to the bottom of his cheek. He was once bright-eyed and smiling - now, a permanent frown is plastered across his face and his eyes looked haunted. The stallion tilts his head, noticing that if it wasn't for the burning armor flames, he would look exactly like his father.
Phoebus rears up and slams down on the ice with a sickening crunch and sizzle. How could he look so much like him? The father who spent so much time chasing the memory of a child that wasn't his, the father who spent so much time away, the father who ran from his problems, the father who died before Phoebus got a chance to know anything more...and he looked like him.
"What am I even doing here?" Phoebus spits with a certain amount of vitriol. "All it's doing is bringing up the past! Maybe I should keep running..." Steam billows off his skin and snow melts beneath his feet - he's burning hot. He turns away from the creek, trying to calm his temper but failing miserably as evidenced by a trail of melting snow. Where he's going, he's unsure, but he needs to cool off before he hurts someone (or himself).
crappy post but needed to get out the writing bug lmao.