The stretch of his wings feels glorious. For ages, he had felt naked, empty. The lack of the weight of wings against his sides, the brush of feathers against his flanks, had felt like an ache. The pain of loss and the pang of memory. But then Beqanna had forgiven them. She has always forgiven them in the past, but this had taken far longer. And the toll had been enormous, irreplaceable. The accompanying damage irreversible.
There is no going back now. The Tundra is gone, wiped from existence as though it had never been, and in its place stands something new. Something different and foreign in a way he has never experienced before. He is old, ancient even, and change is particularly difficult for him. Perhaps it is a sign of his age, or a sign of his weakness, but whatever the case, he is only just now coming to terms with this new Beqanna.
But still it hurts.
And maybe that is why he has come to Tephra. To the land most of his brethren had chosen to settle in when the lands had buckled and caved, giving way to the new and fresh. There is something familiar here at least. Or rather, he hopes there is.
The heat of the volcano is oppressive, the air thick and sticky inside his lungs. The scent of ash lingers eternally upon the stagnant breezes, the metallic scent of magma rising into the steamy air. There is nothing familiar about it, nothing that feels like home. Even after all this time, he still considers the Tundra home. It burns to know that he will never be able to truly go home again. Burns more than the heavy air and the nearly overwhelming heat of the encroaching lava.
For a moment, he considers taking to the sky once more, that he might feel the breeze on his skin, might clear the scent of ash from his lungs, but he does not. Instead he strides to the nearby beach, wary dark eyes glancing briefly around before he wades into the surf. A sigh escapes his lips as the cool water laps against his fetlocks, his cannon bones, his knees, his shoulders. There he stops, his gaze shifting back to shoreline. Seeking, searching. Looking for the familiar dark figure of the stallion who had made this his kingdom.
He could not be far behind. Hurricane would never make the mistake of believing him unaware of his arrival. He knows the man too well for that.
there is never a day that goes by
that is a good day to die
Hurricane
@[Krys]