Kildare doesn't know whats happening a few hundred feet above.
If he did, he might have told Pteron that he knows what its like to skirt dangerous edges, to feel that adrenaline pump into your blood and to feed a soul starving for... what? That had been Kildare's problem from an early age. He had known he had wanted more but what exactly more was has eluded him thus far. His father had gone the traditional route - more responsibility, Malachi had said, would ground a traveler's desire. So the black colt had been raised in much the same manner of Legacy foals before him - lessons in duty and honor and commitment, an endless tirade of stories where all the wrongs of the world seemed to right themselves.
Except theirs. And perhaps the worst part was that Kildare didn't mind.
In the end, in his mind, everything had worked out for the best. His father had taken his mother and the twins to Liridon, Elaina and Lilliana had ventured off to places unknown together and Kildare got what his wandering heart had wanted: his freedom. However, it had come at a cost and that price is what brings him back here for the second or third time (he never ventures too far into Taiga's woods). When the North has finally softened to the warm embrace of spring, when her rivers and cliffs and trees are finally freed of their frozen burden, he tries again.
First Taiga, he thinks, and then on to Nerine to find Astana. To make sure that whatever a Heartfire was - irritation still rises at the dreamy way the stargirl had said her name - had kept his former traveling companion in one piece.
Taiga, despite the constant state of half-light that seems to perpetually darken the place, doesn't seem so bad. It is no Culloden and it is certainly not his mountaintops but there are worse places. His green eyes rove the woods, go up and down the massive trunks as he treks carefully on the forest border. It certainly doesn't possess the current fire hazard of Loess. And that realization makes his stomach know - his home, his home where a child of his will be born soon.
His stomach turns into a burden of knots, nothing that he can untangle as he comes back to this thought time and time again. The only assurance he has, the thing he tells himself most often, is that Mary has been a mother before. She knows what she is doing.
It's his ignorant self he has to worry about. He frowns as he walks and it deepens his already dark mouth, a firm line that shadows downward. How do you not ruin a child?
For the most part, the forest is quiet. There is a spring breeze that rustles the branches, that makes the ferns shiver as it blows past and most of the chill has gone. Kildare continues to walk quietly, each swiveling as he tries to make out any sounds. (How is this forest so quiet?) There is nothing besides the wind and he can't even tell what whispers on that anymore, if there might be anything to learn. If..
There is a loud thud through the forest floor. It seems that whatever lull the Taigan wood was under wakes under the embrace of the noise and Kildare unknowingly walks further into the forest. He passes one massive redwood, then another, several as he weaves around the hooftrails that lead to a pale figure briefly suspended by light and shadow. The dark stallion stops and the figure moves off into the woods, almost gone and leaving Kildare behind until the stallion calls, "I truly hope that wasn't your graceful self."
He briefly looks up, the canopy is several hundred feet above. Had he.. fallen? What would tempt Kildare into a grin only presses a thin line on his face, a look of concern and perhaps bewilderment warring between themselves. His eyes come to rest on the wings - winged horses always tended to have their heads in the clouds.
@[Pteron]
If he did, he might have told Pteron that he knows what its like to skirt dangerous edges, to feel that adrenaline pump into your blood and to feed a soul starving for... what? That had been Kildare's problem from an early age. He had known he had wanted more but what exactly more was has eluded him thus far. His father had gone the traditional route - more responsibility, Malachi had said, would ground a traveler's desire. So the black colt had been raised in much the same manner of Legacy foals before him - lessons in duty and honor and commitment, an endless tirade of stories where all the wrongs of the world seemed to right themselves.
Except theirs. And perhaps the worst part was that Kildare didn't mind.
In the end, in his mind, everything had worked out for the best. His father had taken his mother and the twins to Liridon, Elaina and Lilliana had ventured off to places unknown together and Kildare got what his wandering heart had wanted: his freedom. However, it had come at a cost and that price is what brings him back here for the second or third time (he never ventures too far into Taiga's woods). When the North has finally softened to the warm embrace of spring, when her rivers and cliffs and trees are finally freed of their frozen burden, he tries again.
First Taiga, he thinks, and then on to Nerine to find Astana. To make sure that whatever a Heartfire was - irritation still rises at the dreamy way the stargirl had said her name - had kept his former traveling companion in one piece.
Taiga, despite the constant state of half-light that seems to perpetually darken the place, doesn't seem so bad. It is no Culloden and it is certainly not his mountaintops but there are worse places. His green eyes rove the woods, go up and down the massive trunks as he treks carefully on the forest border. It certainly doesn't possess the current fire hazard of Loess. And that realization makes his stomach know - his home, his home where a child of his will be born soon.
His stomach turns into a burden of knots, nothing that he can untangle as he comes back to this thought time and time again. The only assurance he has, the thing he tells himself most often, is that Mary has been a mother before. She knows what she is doing.
It's his ignorant self he has to worry about. He frowns as he walks and it deepens his already dark mouth, a firm line that shadows downward. How do you not ruin a child?
For the most part, the forest is quiet. There is a spring breeze that rustles the branches, that makes the ferns shiver as it blows past and most of the chill has gone. Kildare continues to walk quietly, each swiveling as he tries to make out any sounds. (How is this forest so quiet?) There is nothing besides the wind and he can't even tell what whispers on that anymore, if there might be anything to learn. If..
There is a loud thud through the forest floor. It seems that whatever lull the Taigan wood was under wakes under the embrace of the noise and Kildare unknowingly walks further into the forest. He passes one massive redwood, then another, several as he weaves around the hooftrails that lead to a pale figure briefly suspended by light and shadow. The dark stallion stops and the figure moves off into the woods, almost gone and leaving Kildare behind until the stallion calls, "I truly hope that wasn't your graceful self."
He briefly looks up, the canopy is several hundred feet above. Had he.. fallen? What would tempt Kildare into a grin only presses a thin line on his face, a look of concern and perhaps bewilderment warring between themselves. His eyes come to rest on the wings - winged horses always tended to have their heads in the clouds.
@[Pteron]