[open] isn't that real enough?

[kildare]

It seems he’s inherited his grandmother’s blood.

His dark coat is thick and well-insulated against the cooler months. His body doesn’t brace against the chill in the air and even when it burns his lungs, there is a clarity that Kildare thinks can only be found in the winter months. If he wasn’t in a stage of his life where his blood was filled with wanderlust, he might have found Icicle Isle appealing. But as it is, Kildare roams from place to place and lets his soul drink in the sights and places that Beqanna has to offer.

If the days are cold and gray or warm and bright, it doesn’t seem to phase him. The young stallion shrugs it off and ventures on.

As he had told Astana, there is a whole world out there to see and he intends to miss nothing of it.

Another trek that has lead him to everywhere and nowhere leads him back to the River. He has followed it from the Forest to Hyaline’s mountains all the way to Taiga’s woods that seem to hold a million secrets. The woods, the mountains, even parts of Nerine (though he doesn’t know it yet) cling to his coat and tell his story of all the places he has been – the midnight wanderer.

The day is beginning again, another day for him to see where the River will take him. Perhaps nowhere, he thinks as a frown starts to dawn on his ebony face. He wants something new, his soul calls for something more untamed than the quiet trickling water as his traveling companion. In the moments of silence like this, he thinks that he would even be content to have Astana prattle on about everything under Beqanna’s sun.

In moments like these, Kildare reveals to his thoughts what a youth he still he is. He is all impatience and hunger and drive to do something.

When he finally decides to break with River and move on, there is a flash of gold. Kildare’s purposeful stride slows as he cranes his head to look through the massive redwoods, peering around the corner to see the gold melt into a pretty picture of white and blue. She is a winged mare who seems to be waiting for something or someone. There is a contentment to her that Kildare hasn’t felt for some time and he envies her that. His blood has been on fire since the moment he got here, awoken by the desire to experience and see as much as he could.

He almost hates to disturb her.

Kildare approaches her, a roguish smile tempting to run wild and grin at her. ”I almost thought you were a tree,” he teases.

But he doubts that a girl like her could ever be rooted to the ground.


@[Oriash]