He can’t explain how he’s found himself here, and even if he were to search the distances of his mind to find a reason, he would come up empty-handed. He had recently made it a customary thing for him not to be wandering about when darkness cloaks the world, but instead to be nestled closely to the glowing and pulsing volcano of his tropical home. Maybe there was a tiny piece of him that wills him to try again – to attempt to stare into the depths of twilight without memories suffocating him. He remembers their names, the constellations and their stories. He used to pass the time by retelling their adventures and watching the sky light up with their brilliant display. He can’t now – the stories were blurry and he was not confident in retelling them. Only few names come to his mind and those are names he dare not speak aloud.
Despite being at war with the night, he cannot help but feel slightly comforted by the silver starlight that softly illuminates his auburn skin. It is delicate and almost forgiving as it alights against the curvature of his neck, spilling carefully into the crevices of his shoulders and hips. It is a familiar feeling and though it brings pain to his mind, physically the navy-pointed stallion was at ease. Even though his mind is churning like raging waters with uncertainty and anger, his body appears relaxed and almost tranquil.
Warrick may be avoiding whatever the darkness brings with it, but it did not make him forget his familiarity with the moon and stars.
It was deathly quiet. It always was at this time of night. Even the nocturnal animals have become silent. The blue and mahogany stallion was not expecting any others to be out wandering the field – though he pities those who aren’t. The skies were clear and radiant, every star twinkling proudly in the blue-black atmosphere. He could see every constellation perfectly. He could even make out the silver-gray of a galaxy, brushed against the sky like dust made of star fragments and light. He sighs, his inhale and exhale sharp and shaky. He cannot help being here; it calls to him.
The stallion’s brilliant blue eyes finally break from the sky above him (he does not know how long he has been staring upwards) and he finally notices a shadow of a figure next to him. The horse was not close, but in the stillness of the hour it was hard not to notice a sudden new figure in your eyesight. Warrick watches him with observant eyes for a moment, knowing that the two-toned stallion was possibly doing the same to him.
He wonders what brings another out at this time of night to stare up into the yawning abyss that was above them. Warrick knew his reasons (or at least the reasons that he would explain to another if they were to ask). He snorts softly, alerting the other of his presence. Not wanting to ruin the comforting silence but also not wanting to ignore the stallion entirely, he quietly and smoothly says to him, “It’s hard not to look at them, isn’t it?”
Of course, Warrick was referring to the stars. At least that's what he told himself.
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