[open] every stroke of luck has got a bleed through

[magnus]

desire consumes me like a fire consumes me

The field is like a second home to Magnus in many ways and he finds himself comfortable here, settling in to the grass and letting the warm air wash over him. It’s drier here than his home and the warmth is different because of it—better, for some, he’s sure, although he has long since learned to love the humid weight of Tephra summers. Here, though, the summer is hotter and drier and his skin nearly prickles with it, sweat beginning to form, despite the fact that he remains languid with grass tickling his stomach.

It’s only when he sees the splotches of red and white out of the corner of his gaze that his eyes flutter open, the gold-flecks of them sharpening beneath obsidian lashes. He remains still, letting the barest hint of a breeze tangle his mane even further as he studies the stallion, watching as he walks through the field, wondering if it was hesitation he saw in his gate or he was simply imagining things.

Regardless, he finally shakes the dust from his coat, the sleep from his muscles and makes his way over to the other, a roguish smile warming his scarred lips as he approaches. “Hello there,” there is a husk to his whiskey-voice, a note of ash in the rumbled syllables of it. “My name is Magnus.” One corner of his mouth tilts further upward into a crooked grin, giving the other some space as he glances around them, noting the relative quiet of the land today. When he brings his gaze back, it is casual and friendly.

“What brings you to the field today?”

An often obvious question although Magnus had rarely heard the same answer to it more than once.

good shouldn’t need to tempt us above

@[Aldric]