you and I both know that the house is haunted
and you and I both know that the ghost is me
The Gates may be his home, but the Jungle would always be the home of his heart. As he walks from the Gates, grateful that he had run across the Queen before trekking all the way to the Chamber to find her, he almost sighs in relief, feeling the tension bleed from his shoulders. He loved the Gates and all that it stood for, but he would never be himself there—not truly. He was a caged lion who did his best to be what Heaven deserved. He was calm and quiet and thought first and foremost of diplomacy while his blood ran hot and all he wanted to do was grab the hilt of his sword. He was not his true feral self in its borders.
But when he was gone, he could feel it slipping from him, and he embraced the vicious nature of his fury at the Chamber. The air went from the crispness of the meadows of Heaven to the oppressive humidity of the Amazons. He gulped it in greedily, lifting his handsome, scarred face upward and closing his eyes, the wind slow and languid. This was, and would always be, his most beloved of lands. It made him think of his mother, bright-eyed and quick-tongued, and the jaguar who would prowl the kingdom beside her. It made him think of all of the women he grew up besides, and the way that he loved them. It was his raising that made him so keen on female companionship—so in awe of everything that they had to offer.
Magnus reaches the border, and while he is sorely tempted to continue walking (the Jungle called to him, and the paths unfolded before him like a lover), he knew that he would be a stranger. It adds just a touch of bitterness to the meeting, his lips flattening. With great regret, the buckskin stallion came to a stop by the border, taking a deep breath before letting loose a low, throaty call. If these Amazons were anything like those he knew in his prior life, he would not be here by himself for long.
MAGNUS
once general. once lord. once king.