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ASHLEY
He should turn. He should run.
A century—he has lived more than a century. He has had love before in his time. Love is easy to find. He has had women. He has even had a great love. Oh, Murphy. How his heart hurt when he thought of Murphy. The days bled together until there was nothing left of the world. And then Charlemagne, that wicked child, had sealed him up… it all went black
But even then, he had his wits about him. He never lost himself in the eyes of another. He was always in control—he’d had to be. First general, and then King—and then Lord. His duty first was to the land. It had always been, and Ashley was determined to make it always be. So when he hears his name being called out as an echo, he knows he should turn and run.
But he is frozen to his spot, as if his hooves have melted him to this patch of land—or as if the very roots of the earth had dug up and grabbed him about the ankles. He was well and truly stuck; and he knew it.
Even his magic could not save him this time.
She approaches him from behind—he is not hard to spot against the snow. Reddish buckskin, amber eyes, and deep ginger hair. He is shorter than she is, but older; rugged, powerful. But oh so tired. He can smell her; flowers and saltwater. It is enough to send him over the edge. She smells like the ocean and he finds that he even lacks the ability to turn around. He hears her say his name again. His eyes narrow, and his heart freezes in time. He was a warrior. A King. He could not be swayed. He could not be conquered.
He does not move. A gentle breeze picks up and sweeps his hair behind him, and he drops his head to the snow, nosing it with a velveteen muzzle, his ears reverting backwards. Ashley stops—breathes.
In a low dulcet one, he speaks few words. Few, but precious. “It’s a boy, isnt’ it?”
A century—he has lived more than a century. He has had love before in his time. Love is easy to find. He has had women. He has even had a great love. Oh, Murphy. How his heart hurt when he thought of Murphy. The days bled together until there was nothing left of the world. And then Charlemagne, that wicked child, had sealed him up… it all went black
But even then, he had his wits about him. He never lost himself in the eyes of another. He was always in control—he’d had to be. First general, and then King—and then Lord. His duty first was to the land. It had always been, and Ashley was determined to make it always be. So when he hears his name being called out as an echo, he knows he should turn and run.
But he is frozen to his spot, as if his hooves have melted him to this patch of land—or as if the very roots of the earth had dug up and grabbed him about the ankles. He was well and truly stuck; and he knew it.
Even his magic could not save him this time.
She approaches him from behind—he is not hard to spot against the snow. Reddish buckskin, amber eyes, and deep ginger hair. He is shorter than she is, but older; rugged, powerful. But oh so tired. He can smell her; flowers and saltwater. It is enough to send him over the edge. She smells like the ocean and he finds that he even lacks the ability to turn around. He hears her say his name again. His eyes narrow, and his heart freezes in time. He was a warrior. A King. He could not be swayed. He could not be conquered.
He does not move. A gentle breeze picks up and sweeps his hair behind him, and he drops his head to the snow, nosing it with a velveteen muzzle, his ears reverting backwards. Ashley stops—breathes.
In a low dulcet one, he speaks few words. Few, but precious. “It’s a boy, isnt’ it?”
and the girls caressed me down ughhh that's that lovin' sound
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