Takei
Although his eyes cannot see the shift in the seasons, he feels it in the air. The crackling song of autumn dances around his ears, crooning to the parts of him that make him a man. Takei doesn’t care for the feral lust that clings to most stallions this time of the year and he often spends most of his days — and nights — swaddling himself in his memories of Orion. Each sunrise is a day further from his ink and paper lover (and the island and its inhabitants that were swept away like dust) yet his grief stings less come sunset.
His romance with the black tobiano was a fire — quick to engulf and slow to put out, but eventually reduced to ash that is easily swept away by the wind of time.
Takei spends most of his hours alongside the shore of the lake. The soft lapping of the water upon the embankments soothes his weary heart and — although a tinny sound in comparison to the roar of the ocean’s waves — reminds him fondly of the sea he loves so dearly. He’s gotten rather skilled at maneuvering the world despite the absence of his sight yet the mountain slopes that define Hyaline intimidate him still.
After going for a short walk along the moist bank of Hyaline’s lake, Takei leans his neck down to sip from the crystalline waters. There’s a sharp breeze stirring across the plane of the lake, though the bite of the wind is lessened by the sun’s warmth on his red and white shoulders. The sound of someone approaching causes the stallion to raise his head, turning toward the source of the movement. “Hello?”
His romance with the black tobiano was a fire — quick to engulf and slow to put out, but eventually reduced to ash that is easily swept away by the wind of time.
Takei spends most of his hours alongside the shore of the lake. The soft lapping of the water upon the embankments soothes his weary heart and — although a tinny sound in comparison to the roar of the ocean’s waves — reminds him fondly of the sea he loves so dearly. He’s gotten rather skilled at maneuvering the world despite the absence of his sight yet the mountain slopes that define Hyaline intimidate him still.
After going for a short walk along the moist bank of Hyaline’s lake, Takei leans his neck down to sip from the crystalline waters. There’s a sharp breeze stirring across the plane of the lake, though the bite of the wind is lessened by the sun’s warmth on his red and white shoulders. The sound of someone approaching causes the stallion to raise his head, turning toward the source of the movement. “Hello?”
watch the mind run far away, way ahead of us