The lost soul of Tiberios and Talulah
Tell me something: What exactly am I supposed to be doing here?
The thought enters my mind more often than I’d care to admit. At one point, I think I had a home. No … I had a home. I still have one, if I want it. I can go there, where Ea reigns and mother has left, where Dad still lurks (I think) every now and then. My twin too, I had one once. But I’m old now. Well, older than I was once and not young enough to be wandering aimlessly like I do. It just feels like I have no damn purpose here anymore. In Ischia, or even in Beqanna. I’m one of the leftovers - y’know, the ones that aren’t special or dangerous or fighting for good. Just a bald-faced stallion with golden hooves that tells everyone somewhere, at some point, I had magic running through my bloodlines.
Is it bad that I don’t even care I’m a leftover?
Perhaps that’s why I’m here, in the meadow; maybe I’m just fucking bored. Regardless, my black limbs are parting the waves of spring grass and my hazel eyes are glaring dead ahead with no expression - I’m caught up in myself and really that’s alright. I still haven’t decided if I want company or not. “Not that there’s really anyone out here you’d know.” I’m reminded, the thought parting my lips with a disatisfied sigh. My back itches and the thought disappears, replaced by a more urgent need to shed the remnants of a winter coat that's given me a brown hue. The horrid patches of fur are almost gone, but some remains where I’ve yet been able to reach.
There’s a lonely looking tree not too far from where I’m headed (wherever that is) and I adjust course accordingly, but I can’t help feeling a little put-off when the shadow of another begins to take shape the closer I get. I put on a happy face, let my ears tense and my slack mouth draw into the thin resemblance of a smile before the words “S’cuse me.” break my current silence. I was hoping for a nice rub, some alone time, even thought about a nice nap. Not anymore.
This is my problem - I’m an introvert.
“Mind if I scratch an itch?” I ask, immediately regretting the choice of words because from out here, where I’ve stopped, I can’t yet tell whom I’m speaking to. What’s done is done though. Might even send them away, if I’m lucky.
TERRAN