Chaser [Any]

[Warrick]

like the sun swallowed up by the earth

The pain is seared into his very being; bridled tightly into the sharp angles of Diable Rouge’s mottled auburn face, clinging to him in the tightness of his voice and the distraught (the sheer hopelessness) that shadows his gaze in the darkness of eternal mourning. Warrick considers this, glancing at the other stallion through the navy forelock that thinly veils his kind eyes, his indigo lips pressing together in thought and empathy. The red roan still has not met his quiet gaze, though Warrick does not expect him to do so and he neither expects him to be able to - the blue-winged stallion does not see it as rude or impolite; he would never be the one to judge another’s way of grieving. Instead he frowns, wishing that somehow his words had quelled the roaring beast that tears through him, but realizing it has not. 

The silence envelops the stallions once more, the wind gently brushing against the darkness of their tangled manes, stirring the soft cobalt of Warrick’s feathers that stretch loosely at his sides. Warrick turns from him to stare out across the horizon, following Diable Rouge’s painful stare into nothingness, as if he perhaps could see what he was imagining. Had he known that the other was envisioning Kaiode galloping throughout the stars, Warrick would have smiled. Instead, his chest rises and falls steadily with a certain tightness that is familiar; grief welcomes him like an old friend.

“I could never forget him.”

A single navy-tipped ear flicks towards the other stallion.

“I think of him everyday, Warrick. I just wish it wasn’t as painful as it was the moment it happened.”

Warrick’s ears flip lazily at the side of his head, as if in defeat. A sigh rattles in his chest - deep and long and weary - though not of exasperation, but as if in agreement. They were left behind; it was and will always continue to be their burden to bear for their entire lifetime. 

He does not try to console him further. No advice, no gentle words to try and soothe the aching soul that was before him (band aids don’t fix bullet holes, yes?). The two were strangers, but Warrick needs him to know that he is not unlike him and, if anything, are more alike than they would like to be.

“No one ever told me that grief feels so much like fear,” he admits to Diable Rouge, his robust voice near a whisper as he shares something so personal and delicate with the stallion beside him.

Diable Rouge responds to his shift in conversation quickly, easily answering and updating him. He snorts softly at the admittance of not seeing his buckskin daughter. He realizes now that his companion has turned to look at him, and Warrick meets the gaze with a gentle eye and a quiet smile. “Do not apologize, my friend. She’s nearly grown, I shouldn’t be so worried,” he says to him, but Warrick cannot help the tension that rises into the way he stands, or the way his wings fidget at his sides anxiously. 

Warrick

@[Diable Rouge]