the sky has never looked so clear; any

[Warrick]

like the sun swallowed up by the earth

The moonlight spills across his back, pooling into the shadows where his muscles grow taut beneath his auburn skin, gently illuminating the soft, supple feathers that lay against his sides. He moves beneath the night sky with familiarity and confidence, blossoming beneath the comfort of its thinly veiled cloak. Ever since he was just a colt he and his little family would stand beneath his stars, while his mother told him and his twin sister amazing stories of their ancestors that reign in the night sky - that one day they too will join in their nightly dance above the heavens together.

The memory is bittersweet, for despite his love for the stars and the magic he is sure they hold, his mother and sister joined into their family’s constellation’s far too soon, far too young.

Even as the years pass, the bay stallion still cannot help the lingering dread that comes with being left behind, alone in the terrible and broken world that is Beqanna.

However, finding Tephra and serving his earthly home (and finding friends, nurturing his children, experiencing love) keeps him grounded, filling a void that had once been empty when he had been just a boy.

Her response easily alights a smile on the dark cobalt of his lips, blue eyes sparkling with understanding; her appreciation of the stars delights him, and he is glad she has found him this night. His eyes follow hers, staring out into the calm of the sea that ripples gently beneath the moon and stars, dark yet inviting as the wind begins to stir from beyond.

“It’s like wading through a sea of stars.”

He decides that he likes this stranger that has come to him from the midst of the sea, dripping with saltwater and starlight. He is still staring out at the ocean, lost in its depths (it felt strange, to stare at the reflection of the constellations instead of the constellations themselves) when she gives him her name.

Wound.

The stallion turns his head towards her with a tiny curve of his auburn neck, the thick navy of his mane and forelock cascading over him. “Wound,” he repeats with a tiny dip of his head, “I’m Warrick.” A pause, and then: “Shall we take a dip, then? I always fly through the stars - never have I swam through them.”

Warrick

@[wound]