06-24-2017, 02:01 PM
and I'll make you remember my face." _____________________________________________________________________________________________ He is soundless as he soars above them. Far enough above they cannot hear the occasional sound of his wings moving, the wind gliding easily across the silver-colored feathers. Darkness surrounds him, and he is silent. The clouds have hidden the moon and smothered the stars, and he is content to glide through the pitch black. Never goes he steal a glance downwards. He does not care what they are doing. He does not care if they are thriving or struggling, alive or dead, happy or distraught. His interest in them was nonexistent, and had been as such for as long as he could remember. Raised by an ever-doting mother, it had done little to change the stoniness that was naturally apart of him. As soon as he had no longer needed her milk, he was gone. And he had been that way ever since. An ear flicks, and he can hear the sound of water running over rock. He knows he is above the river. Thrusting himself forward, he continues on, far away from where the residents of Beqanna typically gathered. Beyond the river lay the field and trees, a vast expanse that went until it reached the seaside. Within those fields there was a thicker copse of trees, one of the many hiding places he had chosen as a home for himself. He circles once, twice, gradually easing closer and observing it all the while. No disturbances, no sign that anyone else had decided to take the place for themselves. He lands, a hardy thud sounding as his hooves touch ground. The silver wings fold against his dapple gray side, and he shakes a dark forelock from his eyes. He surveys his surroundings, nostrils flaring, testing the air. With purposeful steps he moves towards the thickest part of the trees, ignoring the branches and briars that snag at his skin. He settles in, for how long, he is not sure. But with one eye and one ear always paying attention, he does not sleep. NIGHTLOCK carnage and ryatah |