[open] your best american girl

[magnus]

magnus

howling ghosts, they reappear
in mountains that are stacked with fear

It’s not rare for Magnus to be in the field.

He enjoys the summer heat, although it’s far less humid here than it is in Tephra. it beats down on his broad back, his thin coat darkening like crushed gold as he makes his way down the familiar path. He enjoys the smells, familiar as ever. When the Reckoning happened, so much of Beqanna had washed away. It had imploded on itself, swallowing the old and spitting out the new.

So little had changed—and yet, the field remains the same.

It remains the place of infinite possibility and hope and he loves it for that.

When he comes on the border, he swings his head, a crooked smile tilting the edges of scarred lips as he notices the pale pink mare. There was something about her that was at once completely vulnerable and yet completely shrouded in mystery, and he found himself interested. The edges of his sun-bleached tail flicked against his haunches and then he picked up his gate again, making his way toward her.

He was beat by the wildly colored stallion. By comparison, Magnus was relatively normal looking. He had no powers—no ability to wield elements or change vision—and he was a simple buckskin. Looking at him wouldn’t tell you of the crowns he had worn. The wars he had won. The lives he had lived and the death he had overcome. He was just a simple man. Pitted against a world where magic rose like a tidal wave around him and his only gift to stop it was the immortality that newly flooded through his veins.

He laughs softly under his breath, coming to a stop as the other stallion finished talking.

“Hello to you both.” He nods to the other stallion, tilting his head back to the mare.

“My name is Magnus.”

but you're a king and I'm a lionheart