It's dusk when Kudu returns to the meadow. The air has a bite to it already, a mere taste of the winter weather that lies ahead - he's noticed it in his travels, these past weeks. Every night feels a little colder. That winter is just around the corner isn't necessarily an unwelcome notion - it's safer, in a way. Makes for less tinder.
Now, though, the meadow's long grass is tall, and bone-dry, no less. The blue stallion stands belly-deep in a patch crisscrossed by the paths of others' travels. It used to make him feel smug, doing this, back when he was a colt - newly pushy, free of his mother's fretting and his brother's restless energy. It had been satisfying, the idea that the briefest touch of flame might ignite a broad swath of the field, leaving him unscathed in the centre - something he could use to intimidate for once.
It had been one of those things that had proven to be better in theory than in practice.
Now here he stands - grown, lonesome, in the same place that had spelled the end of his childhood in Beqanna. He wonders if his brother and father still haunt the place; Zojja had wasted no time in fairly dragging him out of the lands. He's not even sure she'd given Lupei a proper goodbye, let alone an explanation. Ashamed, he supposes; he hasn't seen her in over a year now. Disappearing seems to be a talent of hers. He wonders if she passed it along to Wyrm, too.
To his right, some twenty yards away, there is a flash of fire, and a sick, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He didn't do that - he knows he didn't, he is still here in one piece and... and there is a filly, dark and long-legged, with unnaturally large sparks illuminating her upturned face. Kudu wanders closer, taking in the scarlet of her mane and tail - she certainly doesn't resemble anyone in the immediate area. This is rather distressing, given that she appears to be the source of the flames flitting around her face.
He could just walk away, he reasons - a traited child making mistakes isn't necessarily his problem. But if he closes his eyes, he finds that he can still hear the echoes of the roan's screams. It is just enough. Whuffing, the blue-green sidles closer, meaning to place himself between the girl and the expanse of irresistibly dry grass stretching away behind him.
"You should be careful, you know." Kudu surveys her from under his forelock, sizing her up. "You look a little young to be torching the Meadow."
Now, though, the meadow's long grass is tall, and bone-dry, no less. The blue stallion stands belly-deep in a patch crisscrossed by the paths of others' travels. It used to make him feel smug, doing this, back when he was a colt - newly pushy, free of his mother's fretting and his brother's restless energy. It had been satisfying, the idea that the briefest touch of flame might ignite a broad swath of the field, leaving him unscathed in the centre - something he could use to intimidate for once.
It had been one of those things that had proven to be better in theory than in practice.
Now here he stands - grown, lonesome, in the same place that had spelled the end of his childhood in Beqanna. He wonders if his brother and father still haunt the place; Zojja had wasted no time in fairly dragging him out of the lands. He's not even sure she'd given Lupei a proper goodbye, let alone an explanation. Ashamed, he supposes; he hasn't seen her in over a year now. Disappearing seems to be a talent of hers. He wonders if she passed it along to Wyrm, too.
To his right, some twenty yards away, there is a flash of fire, and a sick, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He didn't do that - he knows he didn't, he is still here in one piece and... and there is a filly, dark and long-legged, with unnaturally large sparks illuminating her upturned face. Kudu wanders closer, taking in the scarlet of her mane and tail - she certainly doesn't resemble anyone in the immediate area. This is rather distressing, given that she appears to be the source of the flames flitting around her face.
He could just walk away, he reasons - a traited child making mistakes isn't necessarily his problem. But if he closes his eyes, he finds that he can still hear the echoes of the roan's screams. It is just enough. Whuffing, the blue-green sidles closer, meaning to place himself between the girl and the expanse of irresistibly dry grass stretching away behind him.
"You should be careful, you know." Kudu surveys her from under his forelock, sizing her up. "You look a little young to be torching the Meadow."