Time heals all wounds.
Wasn’t that what they said? Wasn’t that what was supposed to give him hope? Time has passed (oh, so very slowly), yet Warrick still felt the sting. It was still there - raw, gaping and pulsing with fear, festering with unceasing pain. The wound was large and deep, a cavernous hole they had once filled. Wasn’t it supposed to start healing by now? Wasn’t it at least going to start feeling numb?
He feels no relief, no reprieve. He no longer knew peace.
Every time he closes his eyes they’re in his mind, washed in the silver of bright starlight and staring at him with eyes of brilliant light, gazing upon him knowingly but not attempting to be near him. Without them, who was he? It was worse than death, his mother and sister’s disappearance. Leaving willingly into the stars without him was the ultimate betrayal, yet he still loved and yearned for them. He could not bear it, so he did not sleep.
Warrick is weary, but pretends he is not. He feels tired and stretched thin, but he would never tell that to anyone he came across. The mahogany and indigo stallion stands in the familiar meadow, wishing that the heat of the sun were as intense as the heat of his volcanic home. He had been in Tephra for a while now, and though his heart and loyalties lie with the residents and his leader, the humid air sometimes felt too thick on his throat. Even in a kingdom full of equines, Warrick still felt like he was utterly alone.
He would then find himself elsewhere, wandering with what he pretended would be with purpose, but really it was because he constantly needed to be preoccupied. That way, visions of his family would remain elsewhere instead of the forefront of his mind. But now, in the meadow that was strangely empty, Warrick’s mind wanders. He can feel himself going there, his heart desperately wanting to remember their faces while his mind attempts to scuff out the thought. He snorts sharply, throwing his head wildly in a struggle to cast them out of his thoughts. They are not here, he thinks to himself and immediately felt despair, knowing that his sister and mother did not want him to forget them.
But wouldn’t forgetting be easier?
He could not finish the thought as his cobalt-tipped ears flick casually towards the sound of a gentle whinny, his navy eyes glancing towards the source. He sees a young yearling, shining like copper in the brilliant sunlight of summer. He welcomes the distraction curiously starting a walk towards her.
She was young, but Warrick knew many fillies that were more than capable of being on their own. His thoughts pass to Beyah. As he approaches the girl with the metallic sheen, he tosses his head once again to rid his mind of her memory (was it really a memory if she was still alive?).
“Hello, my name is Warrick,” he says kindly, halting a few strides away from where she stood. He was only slightly concerned with the young filly being by herself - he remembers always being with his sister and the panic of being separated from her and hopes that she was not feeling the same way. To this day, he does not like being alone.
So he quietly offers to the shining filly: “Would you like some company?”
warrick