10-13-2019, 11:23 PM
Larke left Tephra and Midnight misses her.
This is an absolute, uncontested fact. The young stallion spends most of his time kicking the forever fallen leaves of Sylva, bugging his sister-mom or his siblings whenever the occasion arises; but he is empty, he thinks, without the affections of his tried and true friend.
Their separation is not purposeful, at least on Larke’s part. Midnight would never avoid her, at least that is what he tells himself after he has spent that past couple of months avoiding her. It did not begin like this, with the roaning boy sulking in the shadows of his mother’s territory. Ischia’s lady had her duties to attend to, people to please, politics to learn . . . the light-weaver knew all of this—
Still, he let it turn his boyish heart to bitter stone.
The drama of being so young does not lose its power on Midnight. He sighs into the wind and thinks today is the day he will seek her out—or, he will hover within Ischia in the hopes that she does not notice him.
Lady of Ischia, he spits in his mind. He tries to be bitter and fails, the sweet face of his friend still brings a soft smile to his face. Midnight will learn a hard lesson, one that will smack and palm and demand he be more selfless.
For now, though, he drags his hooves as he trudges toward Ischia.
The summer sun is bright and hot, allowing Midnight to flex his magic and build a light bridge across the channel bordering Tephra. With each step a little more of the white platform grows, and sweat beads on the stallion’s forehead.
Ocean water laps over his hooves when the neighboring beach’s sand finally settles beneath him. Midnight sighs and wraps the light around his legs, wondering how he can feel so miserable and uncertain in a land as beautiful as this.
@[larke]
This is an absolute, uncontested fact. The young stallion spends most of his time kicking the forever fallen leaves of Sylva, bugging his sister-mom or his siblings whenever the occasion arises; but he is empty, he thinks, without the affections of his tried and true friend.
Their separation is not purposeful, at least on Larke’s part. Midnight would never avoid her, at least that is what he tells himself after he has spent that past couple of months avoiding her. It did not begin like this, with the roaning boy sulking in the shadows of his mother’s territory. Ischia’s lady had her duties to attend to, people to please, politics to learn . . . the light-weaver knew all of this—
Still, he let it turn his boyish heart to bitter stone.
The drama of being so young does not lose its power on Midnight. He sighs into the wind and thinks today is the day he will seek her out—or, he will hover within Ischia in the hopes that she does not notice him.
Lady of Ischia, he spits in his mind. He tries to be bitter and fails, the sweet face of his friend still brings a soft smile to his face. Midnight will learn a hard lesson, one that will smack and palm and demand he be more selfless.
For now, though, he drags his hooves as he trudges toward Ischia.
The summer sun is bright and hot, allowing Midnight to flex his magic and build a light bridge across the channel bordering Tephra. With each step a little more of the white platform grows, and sweat beads on the stallion’s forehead.
Ocean water laps over his hooves when the neighboring beach’s sand finally settles beneath him. Midnight sighs and wraps the light around his legs, wondering how he can feel so miserable and uncertain in a land as beautiful as this.
@[larke]