06-09-2017, 06:13 PM
An enemy who gets in, risks the danger of becoming a friend.
Spear had a moment to himself; a moment that did involve a careful watch kept on his twin sister now that she could turn into a living representation of fire. She was off on her own, but he seemed a bit more confidant that she was not setting things on fire as she went and his heart was calmer for it. But that left him thinking of the hills, how they came to have a name and how the black spotted mare that found them had gone from them as much as he had without a word or a look back. He missed that plucky little mare more than he cared to admit, and she was the first horse he had ever missed besides those that shared his bloodline.
His mismatched eyes (the left eye is red and the right eye is black) peer out from the thick black forelock that falls across them. It gives him an oddly barred perspective of the world contained in just this one place, and he can see the shapes of horses going by as their shadows trail them through the wildflowers and the grass. He supposes that most are in search of the usual things - forage and shade since the day is rather hot, as all summer days are loathe to be. Still, not as hot as Tephra can be beneath the glowering cone of her trademark volcano, he muses with half a grin on his face.
With nary a backward glance, he leaves the familiar and languid haze of Tephra behind him for the equally familiar haunt of the Meadow. He’s been here before, more times than he cares to remember (though most of those times have been spent in the shared companionship of his sister and Lily) and is not quite sure what prompted him to come here again. Perhaps it is the lack of having his twin at his side that drives him out in search of something, or someone. He dwells on this more than he should as his feathered feet find purchase on trails heavily used by the many who frequent the meadow, but as always, his feet know the way to his favorite spot beneath a birch tree that is good for scratching his back against. He positions his thick muscular self against the birch’s peeling trunk, leaning rather casually up against it. If he had to think about it - and he does, for just a minute - it seems the birch is holding him up more than his own four feet do.
spear