12-17-2015, 11:17 AM
In the Tundra, many things are done differently. Life simply exists in a different fashion in a land of ice and snow than it does where water runs freely and your ear tips are not in danger of freezing off nine months of the year. Here, it is almost as though everything exists in a bubble. A vacuum where all that you know is survival.
Survival and duty. That fairly well sums up Hurricane’s life. He does not mind though. It gives him purpose. (Even if he does still sometimes remember a golden mare with sunlight in her eyes. Still, he remains true to his home. He always will.)
The man’s comment when he learns that snow is their source of water causes a faint snort to escape Hurricane’s lips. It was not meant to be rude or derisive. Rather, it holds more amusement than anything. It seems the old gray stallion still has some surprises left in him.
”You’d have a time of it trying to break the ice anyway. In the dead of winter, the ice can grow to be thicker than you are tall.”
The man’s next question catches him by surprise, a quiet phrase that he snaps almost peevishly. Hurricane eyes the darker gray stallion with mild interest, wondering what had brought about the odd question and the even odder answer. Of course, it’s not the first time he had known men with personal demons, but normally they were quieter about it.
So perhaps it is fortunate then that Brynmor has so much space in which to work out his troubles.
In either case, Hurricane does not comment. He is a man of few words, and in this case, he’s fairly certain the fewer the better. Brynmor’s next question however, brings him back on topic. He nods faintly, even knowing the other man cannot see him do it.
”Each kingdom has their own form of magic. The spirit of the kingdom, essentially. Ours are the caves. They are designed to test a man’s loyalty to the kingdom when entered. They are how a new Brother is initiated.”
Survival and duty. That fairly well sums up Hurricane’s life. He does not mind though. It gives him purpose. (Even if he does still sometimes remember a golden mare with sunlight in her eyes. Still, he remains true to his home. He always will.)
The man’s comment when he learns that snow is their source of water causes a faint snort to escape Hurricane’s lips. It was not meant to be rude or derisive. Rather, it holds more amusement than anything. It seems the old gray stallion still has some surprises left in him.
”You’d have a time of it trying to break the ice anyway. In the dead of winter, the ice can grow to be thicker than you are tall.”
The man’s next question catches him by surprise, a quiet phrase that he snaps almost peevishly. Hurricane eyes the darker gray stallion with mild interest, wondering what had brought about the odd question and the even odder answer. Of course, it’s not the first time he had known men with personal demons, but normally they were quieter about it.
So perhaps it is fortunate then that Brynmor has so much space in which to work out his troubles.
In either case, Hurricane does not comment. He is a man of few words, and in this case, he’s fairly certain the fewer the better. Brynmor’s next question however, brings him back on topic. He nods faintly, even knowing the other man cannot see him do it.
”Each kingdom has their own form of magic. The spirit of the kingdom, essentially. Ours are the caves. They are designed to test a man’s loyalty to the kingdom when entered. They are how a new Brother is initiated.”
There is never a day that goes by
that is a good day to die.
Hurricane
