it is not the mountain we conquer, but ourselves
Fiero isn't quite sure why he does not return to the Gates after having stumbled upon the scent of his sire months ago. He somehow knows that the Gates are the most likely place Magnus will be. Yet, Fiero lingers here instead, pondering his curious meeting with the strange, and arrogant Zojja, and the impossibility that his sire has returned from death. He also wonders of Joelle, and his sister,Lylah. He dreams sometimes that he is young again, and his mother and father watch over the kingdom. He dreams sometimes of Vineine, and wonders what could have been if she would have stayed. Perhaps, the reason he does not yet return to the Gates is because he does not want to shatter those sweet imaginings with what he already knows to be true. They are all gone.
Or, at least they were gone for a time.
His world is changing now, whether he idles his time in the penumbras treeline of the Meadow, or not. Another day fading into night brings him forth from the copse. He is not a creature of vespertine shadow, but sleeplessness has plagued him these past few nights. Tonight he won’t even fight with the insomnia.
The first winter snow has cast a blanket over the dried, dead grasses during the day, despite the clear morning. Fiero tromps through the untouched snow rather unceremoniously. A black mare dusting herself with snow catches his eye for a fleeting moment, but there is another vaguely familiar form that steals his attention. For a moment, he could have mistaken the buckskin stallion for Magnus, or maybe even Fiero himself. He snorts at the notion, diverting his path away from the pair a few paces as the black mare attempts to strike up conversation. But, something gives him pause.
He joins them quickly enough to catch the last breath of words from the mare’s lips, and he offers her a courteous smile. Normally, he wouldn't intrude upon a chance at conversation between mare and another stallion just for the sake of talking to another male. In fact, he still isn't quite sure why he is here. There were hundreds of buckskin horses running around Beqanna that shared the same blood somewhere in their veins as he. After all, grandsire Atrox has produced masses of offspring. He does not yet think of Vineine, or the possibility that the stallion now beside him could be his own son. Not yet.
“ Hello,” he says, addressing them both “and nice to meet you, Naga.” He offers a more sincere smile to the black mare. There is an awkwardness that creeps up his throat. “My name is Fiero.” Let’s talk about the weather. Yet, somehow he manages to keep his composure, amidst trying not to stare at Trystane.
Or, at least they were gone for a time.
His world is changing now, whether he idles his time in the penumbras treeline of the Meadow, or not. Another day fading into night brings him forth from the copse. He is not a creature of vespertine shadow, but sleeplessness has plagued him these past few nights. Tonight he won’t even fight with the insomnia.
The first winter snow has cast a blanket over the dried, dead grasses during the day, despite the clear morning. Fiero tromps through the untouched snow rather unceremoniously. A black mare dusting herself with snow catches his eye for a fleeting moment, but there is another vaguely familiar form that steals his attention. For a moment, he could have mistaken the buckskin stallion for Magnus, or maybe even Fiero himself. He snorts at the notion, diverting his path away from the pair a few paces as the black mare attempts to strike up conversation. But, something gives him pause.
He joins them quickly enough to catch the last breath of words from the mare’s lips, and he offers her a courteous smile. Normally, he wouldn't intrude upon a chance at conversation between mare and another stallion just for the sake of talking to another male. In fact, he still isn't quite sure why he is here. There were hundreds of buckskin horses running around Beqanna that shared the same blood somewhere in their veins as he. After all, grandsire Atrox has produced masses of offspring. He does not yet think of Vineine, or the possibility that the stallion now beside him could be his own son. Not yet.
“ Hello,” he says, addressing them both “and nice to meet you, Naga.” He offers a more sincere smile to the black mare. There is an awkwardness that creeps up his throat. “My name is Fiero.” Let’s talk about the weather. Yet, somehow he manages to keep his composure, amidst trying not to stare at Trystane.
ooc: I wasn't sure what to do with the change in setting, so I hope this is alright. Fiero is super awkward right now. Eek.