05-22-2018, 06:18 AM
we are crooked souls trying to stay up straight
The sunlight is warm and robust as it hits him, the green-gold grasses of the inland plains gently swaying in the afternoon breeze. Low tide has opened up a larger area around him, where tiny pools of warm and shallow water remain stagnant until the ocean returns. Here, crawdads and other shellfish frequent the sea grasses, as well as silvered minnows and wayward crabs who have lost their way from the black shoreline of the coast. The Overseer is returning from the border, where his patrols have become more frequent, carefully picking his way through the inlet until the muddy silt of leftover saltwater turns into hardened ground - the plains in between the border and the coastline. In the distance the volcano looms brilliantly, it’s dark and shadowy canopy somehow comforting to the blue-bay stallion. His heart his heavy, which is why he walks almost defeatedly into his own country, the buzzing sound of insects hovering above the gold grasses gnawing in his ear. Everything he had known has slowly loosened and unraveled, revealing a life that he thought he had known, thought he had figured out. And though his soul trembles at the idea,
(it’s a lie, you know it’s a lie)
his mind cannot help but quickly interject (you knew the truth, you’re so blind).
Warrick has no more time to understand what has happened with him in the meadow, and though the weight still heavily drags behind him, his face rearranges to one of awe when he sees Sibyl coming towards him at a full gallop, a breathless grin on her dainty features. The Overseer halts, lifting his head and returning the brightening smile with his own, reaching out with his muzzle to nip lightly at the air between them as she overcalculates her speed and passes him. Warrick turns his head over his shoulder as the little filly comes up to his side, and he immediately presses his muzzle into her poll, huffing gently and inhaling the sweet scent of childhood on her skin, and the faintness of Tangerine that lingers there. “Sibyl,” he murmurs into her navy and alabaster skin, “you will always find me.”
And it is the truth.
He looks up, turning his head towards Tangerine’s approaching form. She is as he remembers her, from the day they had met in the field, and the heaviness of his turmoil seems just that much lighter in her presence. He wonders if she has seen already (there is no way he would be able to hide this from her, he knows) and though his eyes are full and loving, there is a solemnity there that only Tangerine herself would recognize. “You’ve been behaving, Sibyl?” Warrick is still looking ahead towards his lover, but the tiny grin on his face and the direction of his voice is pointed at his youngest daughter playfully.
Warrick
@[Sibyl]