when the rain falls - Prague

[Texas]

The patience required for idle chatter is not something that the bay stallion possesses in great amounts. He possesses very little of it at all, actually, and perhaps this explains the scowls he gives to friendly passersby. All of them – mares and stallions alike – are treated equally by his brown-black glare, a novelty especially in this season of fiery leaves and cool breezes. His brief affair with mortality had not affected him terribly, yet despite the abundance of mares in the Meadow he makes no attempt to approach them.

Instead he sulks, half-hidden in the shade of a red-leafed oak tree.

Texas cannot remember the last time that he was in the Meadow, and as the sun begins to sink behind the horizon, he remembers why. He is too old for the meadow and for the talk-of-nothing that is here. His life spans nearly two centuries and his patience had run out at 50. Now and again he tries to submerge himself in the daily life of Beqanna; his past decade in the Falls is proof of that. But the Falls is as quiet as the Meadow and Texas has always needed something to occupy himself. He doesn’t want to rule or to fight or to bother with diplomacy. He pretends to, of course, and pretends rather well if the progress he has made in the ranks of the Dazzling Waterfall are any indication.

He stretches to scratch at an itch on his grizzle muzzle with one long black foreleg, and ponders the potential consequences of leaping from the top of the Waterfall once he returns home.

[prague]

WELL, JESUS CHRIST, I'M NOT SCARED TO DIE

Texas and Prague have lots in common, they're old as dirt, they don't care for small talk, but above all else; they're stubborn. If we're talking beneath the surface you could probably make the assumption they loved one another in some strange, self-absorbed sort of way.

Prague hasn't thought of Texas not because she's forgotten solely about him but rather she's forgotten everything about herself. She's aimlessly wandering, she was taken to the Jungle as her "home" but she's still unsure what exactly she's doing there - spare setting fire to the plants (not the rain, Adele). She sees the bay scratching himself and something inside of her stirs - there is no epiphany, more like the first small sign of the flu, a dip in the stomach then the slow rise of a fever. It felt good and bad all at the same time. She nickered to him, not sure if he knew her or if maybe his name would come to her and swayed towards him. Eyes bright, excitement dancing across them in hopes of figuring something out.

"Hi, I'm Prague!" she says quite happily and waits. Little does she know he could very well bash her head in.

I'M A LITTLE BIT SCARED OF WHAT COMES AFTER

sorry my muse went kaput.