Only his hoofprints in the snow show that he’s on the move.
He leaves a trail from Dale to meadow, invisible in all other respects save for the tell-tale tracks. It’s easier this way, traveling is; anyone who ran into him would likely balk at the formless figure ambling onward. He’s glad for the silence, happy to indulge himself in the quiet that he usually isn’t granted. More than anything, though, it’s wildly freeing to slip into his ghost form and escape from his duties, if only for a while. He knows that he’s sacrificed a normal life in service of the Dale. He realizes that the trajectory is his life will be far different than that of his sister. Even though he and Joscelin had grown up much the same, (under the same stars and guiding love of their parents) she now has ample freedom while he has duty and responsibility. And while he can never resent the choices their parents initially made for them, (a choice that he had later accepted, making it his all the same) sometimes it’s nice to leave it all behind for an afternoon elsewhere.
Ramiel materializes on the edge of the forest bordering the meadow. A last great snowstorm has left the open expanse covered in a blanket of white. Many of the horses stand in little clusters, huddling closer with each gust of wind that sends the snow swirling around them. He smiles at this. His own shaggy charcoal coat keeps him warm enough. The mountain lands are rugged and wild, besides, and he is more than used to the sweeping winds that come down off the peaks.
Despite his relative comfort, he walks slowly into the fold of bodies. It’s been so long since he last came here, so long since he had a conversation that didn’t involve the Dale or politics in some capacity, that it gives him pause. He looks for a familiar face at first. For as long as it’s been since he had a genial chat, it’s been far longer since he saw Wrynn or Kellyn or Nihlus or Rhy. He’d meant to keep an eye and an ear out for them - his fellows from the afterlife – but it seems their different lives have left them strangers. It’s unfortunate, because they were some of the only non-Daleans he had felt a connection to. He’d hoped they would play a more prominent role in his life (especially sweet Wrynn – only now does he realize how much he misses her) but that hope fades every day. The stallion wonders if Gail would be a different matter entirely. He thinks if she’d been brought back, their glue and black light, they wouldn’t be able to leave so easily.
Eventually, his golden eyes settle on the rest of the crowd, unable to find what he’s looking for. He flicks his tail across his back. It’s a nervous habit of his that he can’t seem to shake, this time brought on by his ineptitude at this sort of socialization. He’d never been good at it. Even as a colt, he’d been too serious, too prideful, too old at heart. Now well into adulthood, it’s an uncomfortable aspect of his personality he hates to admit. Why did he think this would be enjoyable? Ramiel moves towards a stallion off by himself, his ears pricked forward hopefully, before he decides better of it and turns away. He’s just about to head home and admit defeat when he hears a voice off to his left. He turns, wondering if someone else has made the first move so he won’t have to.
Ramiel
ghost king of the dale
ooc: bah, starter posts...