He spent his last days in Liridon with his uncle, his father’s brother. Tarian has never been a creature who lusted for adventure, has never been a soul who longed for enterprise. An heir to a forgotten kingdom - a kingdom they had both known - it had seemed fitting that he spent his last days with someone in Liridon who remembered it.
They hadn’t lamented as they reminisced. They didn’t yearn as they remembered.
They walked - to and toward.
Tarian listened as Jay told him about prophecies that could be found in the tidal patterns left behind the ocean as the tides receded. Tarian listened as he was told about how the stars - a compass, a guide, something that pegasi knew instinctually to measure their hearts and wing strokes by - reflected similar patterns; futures and destinies could be found there, too. In the Winds, in the change of seasons. (Tarian had his doubts about some of these things but there is a reason why he is a warrior and his Uncle a Shaman.)
The silver stallion had listened, so intently, that on his last night, he had been taken by surprise to hear whalesong echoing in his Uncle’s cove. A parting hymn, a song he had carried with him from the ocean to the sky.
The wind here sounds, similar. If he listens closely, there is a loneliness in it as it blows through the branches and rattles the bones of the forest. It keeps Tarian company as he walks through the trails, as he winds around the trunks and weaves towards what he thinks is a clearing. The early morning sun gilts him as he emerges through the treeline, coming to the Meadow that he knew he'd eventually find. With the sun rising to the east, it blinds him and makes the stallion scowl as he comes to a halt.
Damn.
It etches across his otherwise pale features and Tarian turns his head sharply to the left, trying to escape the blinding effect of the sunrise.
They hadn’t lamented as they reminisced. They didn’t yearn as they remembered.
They walked - to and toward.
Tarian listened as Jay told him about prophecies that could be found in the tidal patterns left behind the ocean as the tides receded. Tarian listened as he was told about how the stars - a compass, a guide, something that pegasi knew instinctually to measure their hearts and wing strokes by - reflected similar patterns; futures and destinies could be found there, too. In the Winds, in the change of seasons. (Tarian had his doubts about some of these things but there is a reason why he is a warrior and his Uncle a Shaman.)
The silver stallion had listened, so intently, that on his last night, he had been taken by surprise to hear whalesong echoing in his Uncle’s cove. A parting hymn, a song he had carried with him from the ocean to the sky.
The wind here sounds, similar. If he listens closely, there is a loneliness in it as it blows through the branches and rattles the bones of the forest. It keeps Tarian company as he walks through the trails, as he winds around the trunks and weaves towards what he thinks is a clearing. The early morning sun gilts him as he emerges through the treeline, coming to the Meadow that he knew he'd eventually find. With the sun rising to the east, it blinds him and makes the stallion scowl as he comes to a halt.
Damn.
It etches across his otherwise pale features and Tarian turns his head sharply to the left, trying to escape the blinding effect of the sunrise.
TARIAN
@[Altissima] have a starter