11-07-2017, 04:44 PM
His skin feels electric beneath the gleam of moonlight - uncomfortable in that it is a strange and slightly unusual sensation, but now that his cuts and bruises had healed, the silver light pools gently into the hollows and dips of his worn face, cool and gentle against the sharp angles of his jaw. It does not burn his skin, or blind him, so the blue roan stallion sighs deeply, his breath rattling in his throat as it escapes into the air. For a moment he almost forgets his stoic guide at his side, lost in his thoughts and basking in the delicate, gentle glow of early morning darkness. But she is there, sturdy and patient, ever the guide. Still nameless, she reminds him of someone deep in his memory, lost and forgotten in the gaping darkness of the catacombs from which he had emerged, a blurred face with blue eyes. A stag, perhaps? Regal and true; a protector. However, the memory is fuzzy and causes his chest to tighten, so he presses it no longer and instead leans into her slightly, listening fervently. He no longer shies away from the sound of her voice but instead is enchanted by it. The words she chooses fill his mind with such vivid pictures that he had not thought about in a long while, rolling through him with enthusiasm, deeply stirring within him. “Magic,” he repeats with bated breath, his voice robust and grainy compared to the gentle chime of her own. The word sparks the memories again - wolves beneath the moonlight, trees taller than the sky, a lake golden from the sun… “There is magic here?” He whispers it as a question, but in such a way that she could assume he already knows the answer - yes. Magic - he remembers magic. For the first time in a long time, a chuckle reverberates in his chest, low and hearty but extremely soft as it cascades through him. “Mushrooms,” he repeats her tenderly, in no way chastising her affinity for the fungi, but merely finding her excitement alluring and simply endearing. He wishes he could go on, explain how mushrooms might be the only plant he truly had seen in the depths of the darkness, and how most often it had been a source of nutrition and he too, found them delightful. He inhales as if to begin, but the words never leave him - to overextend his unused voice and to try to filter through the many thoughts in his head is too tiresome for him, for this extremely eventful night. It would be too much. She speaks of death and the slight smile, ever so faint on his charcoal lips, fade respectfully. Death is something the entire world has in common, and the reminder of that morality is enough to quiet him into silence. Death he is familiar with - death, he knew too well. As if to bring him from his stupor, the warmth of her breath alights on his muscular neck, sweet and tender upon the cold, damp flesh. Even now she has yet to press him for information, to pry into the why and how of his arrival. “I’m Balto,” he offers, turning his gaze to hers as he slowly and carefully opens his eyes, afraid that any amount of light might cause him pain, but curious to really see who has drawn him out into the open. once the king of beasts but now they feast on thoughts beneath his vacant crown. |
@[keeper] same! i'm glad you like him <33