08-23-2016, 02:05 PM
BUT HOW COULD YOU KNOW THE SWEETEST SUFFERING
OF MOVING ON
OF MOVING ON
The field is beginning to swarm, but many a mares are scampering to and fro with their hormones clutched tightly to their chests. Stallions are heeding them and whisking them away to a new life where their closeness could sprout and flourish. From afar Tiphon has been watching them, but his attention never lingers. It roams here and there as he tries to distract himself from the typical sounds and scents of breeding season. No children, he told himself, not after the twins and Elaria, the poor, cursed foals. His stomach wrenches when he thinks of them and how similar they are to his father (a dark creature meant for the grave). Naturally, he loves them because they are his children, but he also pities them. Their bodies look to be decaying and yet they are so alive and so very vibrant; and Estela, whose hooves have developed into talons that he can’t bring himself to look at.
No, they alone are enough incentive for Tiphon to elude the natural instincts berthed in his mind.
His eyes flicker across the faces to watch the others. They are a blur. They move quickly, bustling through the field as though in a hurry, but there is one who stands out. What’s funny is that the figure contrasts against the background of horses for the simple fact that he is still and not calling for attention. A low chuckle rumbles from Tiphon’s throat and his eyes beam with curiosity and amusement. ”Hello,” he finally says after having approached at a casual walk. His head nods to both in attendance. A sideways glance searches Cress’ scars and additionally notes her lack of ears. The stories she has could be interesting or perhaps disinteresting depending on perspective. She suggests the Valley and Tiphon says and does nothing, his expression masked by a soldier’s stone-like façade. His grandfather is king there, but he isn’t aware of this, not yet.
”There is also the Dale, if you’re interested.” A sudden breeze blows from the east and tousles his molten locks, the air carrying scents of pines and mountains. A feeble grin begins to crack across his lips and his head inclines just slightly. ”I’m Tiphon, by the way.”
No, they alone are enough incentive for Tiphon to elude the natural instincts berthed in his mind.
His eyes flicker across the faces to watch the others. They are a blur. They move quickly, bustling through the field as though in a hurry, but there is one who stands out. What’s funny is that the figure contrasts against the background of horses for the simple fact that he is still and not calling for attention. A low chuckle rumbles from Tiphon’s throat and his eyes beam with curiosity and amusement. ”Hello,” he finally says after having approached at a casual walk. His head nods to both in attendance. A sideways glance searches Cress’ scars and additionally notes her lack of ears. The stories she has could be interesting or perhaps disinteresting depending on perspective. She suggests the Valley and Tiphon says and does nothing, his expression masked by a soldier’s stone-like façade. His grandfather is king there, but he isn’t aware of this, not yet.
”There is also the Dale, if you’re interested.” A sudden breeze blows from the east and tousles his molten locks, the air carrying scents of pines and mountains. A feeble grin begins to crack across his lips and his head inclines just slightly. ”I’m Tiphon, by the way.”
TIPHON
STARLACE AND INFECTION