He had grown so accustomed to the frigid winters of the north that this late winter chill seems as spring in comparison. The air cools in his lungs, but it does not bite or sting. The wind is never more than the barest breeze, nothing one must hunker down against lest one be blown from their feet. It is all so very tame in comparison, and it reminds him far too much that his home, inhospitable though it might have seemed, is gone forever. Ripped from the earth as though it had never been.
He is not a man given to melancholy, but the thought stirs a sadness inside of him. It is as though the past does not matter, all too easy to forget. To a stallion who had once forgotten his past, it hits far too close to home.
Her anger must have been grave indeed, to punish them so. Perhaps it is irony that it was the terrible misuse of power that had sent him to slumber. He is a simple man, from much simpler times, and the posturing had disturbed him. Enough to send him to his sleep, but it must have angered Beqanna far more.
The crunch of hooves breaks his reverie, bringing his pale head around to better see who nears. The dark form is familiar, large and solid, with red eyes peering from a black forelock. Offspring.
His instinct is to ruffle his feathers and settle his wings against his sides, but he is instead starkly reminded of the lack. His invisibility he had not used often enough to miss terribly, but his wings had a been a part of him. Flight had been ingrained, at the very core of his essence. The ache of its loss is real, tangible, leaving him thoroughly disgruntled.
He dips his head slightly to acknowledge the larger stallion before greeting simply, ”Offspring.”
His once brother understands, perhaps more than any other could have. A low sigh escapes his lips as he turns his dark gaze to consider the trees. After a moment’s silence, he continues ”How did you ever become accustomed to it?”
there is never a day that goes by
that is a good day to die
Hurricane