Was he fit for this job? Would he make them proud to call him their king? So many doubts, but there were no time to address them. He had offered himself to them, and would therefore step up to the plate left at the table by Camelia. Fiasko certainly seemed to be emerging from her shell, and to see her so sure of herself and her position made Mast smile. It was something, to see how the two of them had came full circle. Once they were both orphans, taken into the Gates and promised love and asked nothing in return. Now they were standing on the throne of the very same kingdom, ready to give back for everything she had done for them.
The summer time heat as made him feel lazy. Bright sunshine glares onto his ever-lightening coat, and he is hard pressed to keep a sigh from passing over his black lips. He can feel the heat go past his skin and soak right into his bones, and it takes an unnecessarily large amount of energy to flick his tail over his haunches. With a snort he shakes his head, hoping to clear the fog that was forcing its way into his brain. Better move he thought, and so the Arabian hybrid did. True, he moved through the kingdom without much purpose, but it was better than dozing under the sun at any rate. He moves into the trees, nodding his head in greeting to the forest creatures who’d came out to see him. Movement ahead catches his eye, and with a smile he falls in beside Witchita. “Hello Witchita.” he said, his voice low and friendly. It is only then that he notices the tension on her body, tightening every muscle including the ones that line her face. His smile falters, and he follows her gaze. Its then that he sees the newcomer, a black stallion of clear draft heritage. “Its ok…come with me.” he says to the nervous mare as he heads towards the newcomer. “Hello there!” he calls, closing the gap quickly (but not rushed). “Welcome to the Gates. I’m Mast.” he offers, and for a moment he is torn about whether he should tell the visitor that he is a king. He would wait, he decided…for titles meant nothing in the grand scheme of things. They certainly didn’t make him who he was at any rate.
mast
be my asleep at last