Trekori
i'm freezing, it's not winter yet
but my fingers and toes
are shivering beneath these sheets
and i feel so alone
i don't want to die, i want to sleep
Despite the changes that roll over Beqanna with the ferocity of waves during a tropical storm, my comfort levels have sky rocketed here in Ischia. As the brotherhood settles in, clearing away the scents of the previous residents in exchange for a masculine musk, I find myself more and more at ease. Walking along the shore and meeting new brothers - but not even that. I'm approaching two years of age, technical adulthood, and I can see the changes. My figure is filling out with muscle, and my wingspan has increased dramatically (although I've been flying since about six months of age). There's promise in the sturdy bones of my legs, and there's even more in the glimmer of my purple eyes.
I am not the colt that Andulvar found in the meadow all those days ago; I am not scrawny and moody and derelict. I have found a purpose, and with that purpose, a will to live.
The blue sky stretches out just above me, the wind tousling the alabaster strands of my mane as I fly over the grounds of my home. The warmth of summer has passed us by in exchange for the chill of autumn, but at this noon hour, the heat of Ischia is still undeniable, and I bask in it, frolicking through the thermals with that carefree attitude I've come to sometimes enjoy. As I'm diving and reopening my wings, practicing gliding and ascending quickly, I spot a disturbance along the coast.
Well, play time is over.
Eyeing the two creatures that pass through the canal, I angle myself to slowly approach them. Brennen appears soon exiting from the foliage of the jungle, and I quicken my descent until I am landing some feet away. The newfound length of my growing wings takes an extra moment or two to properly fold to my painted sides, but I approach in enough time to hear Brennen's introduction and question. Reaching his side, I brush my nose against the muscled cords of his neck, murmuring brother under my breath in greeting.
Straightening, my purple eyes go to the pair. The stallion is large, much larger still than I am, but the mare is by far the shortest among us. Despite her subtle deformation, I catch the light in her intelligent eyes, and decide immediately that I like her. There's an easiness in Brennen's voice, but I take a more stoic approach, speaking with more reservation than my bay king.
"And I'm Trekori." Position to be decided.
