little drops of anguish will all run together; Kreios

[Kreios]

kreios don't you tame your demons, but always keep them on a leash I have never had the chance to blend in with the background. Though I might hide my heritage - born the son of a King and a Queen – by not speaking of it, there is no hiding my physical presence. As large as my Percheron father and carrying the bold spots of my mother and a bloody red coat hidden in both their black hides, I never had a chance. I am not ungrateful for what I have been given – I am healthy and able (now) – but there are times that I have wished that I was not who I am. Times like these. My former queen – the wife my father had replaced my mother with even as she birthed my youngest sister - had called me back, and while the sight of my dead father walking the sands was not unheard of in the magics of Beqanna, it is something that I do not want to deal with at the present time. I long for the soft sway of yellow savanna grass against my sides, or even the echo of my hooves in deep canyons of the Orange Country. I want anything except to stand beneath my father’s judgmental eye and the broiling Desert sun. So I have come here, to the Meadow, a place I frequented from time to time when I still called Beqanna home. The faces I see are unfamiliar but they each receive a passing smile; even when ill at ease I am incapable of rudeness. I walk aimlessly, round the meadow first in a wide circle and then in a figure-eight, moving just to move and to not think. I had not thought much while I was away; there was no need. Instinct was enough, and emotions were unimportant. The need for food and water were what drove me, and I follow them until I stand beside the shallow stream. I lower my head to drink and for a moment it almost feels as though I have never returned. The mare that approaches matches my trouble mind in appearance, a blend of childhood horse brown and the stripes of my most recent herd. I do not know her but she seems frightened, and the urge to comfort her is as instinctual for me as the need for water. “Hey there,” I say, lowering my head in a way that I know makes me seem at least a little smaller, a little less threatening. “Are you okay?”