10-21-2020, 08:05 PM
In the distance, far beyond the black shoreline of Tephra’s ashen beach and away from the shadow of the ever-grumbling volcano, the young colt feels something stir.
His violet eyes - intense and bold - stare at the volcano with what seems like a seething anger. Every part of him is pulled tight like an arrow, muscles wound beneath his orange and purple skin like a spring. His weight shifts from one slender leg to the other, the deep purple of his hooves digging welts into the fertile soil of where he stands inland.
He hates the volcano; he hates this place. But he doesn’t leave, not yet, but instead broods beneath all of that anger, champing his mouth with fierce tosses of his galaxy-painted head, locks of vibrant purple and muted orange cascading around him with each sudden movement. He doesn’t belong here, neither of them do, but he cannot bring himself to cross the territory’s border into the rest of the world.
Perhaps there is fear seated deep within his hate, a reluctance to admit that they do not belong here not because they are better, but because they were mistakes. Unwanted, unplanned, a product of the dark god.
Aren’t they gods then, too?
He scowls at the thought, wondering what form he could use to make them realize how silly they are to ignore him so blatantly. He is worthy of their attention - far more than any of the others - yet he is cast aside as if the blood in his veins weren't the same as theirs. Skandar’s ears fall into the ombre of his tangled mane, snorting sharply. He is sure Lei would find him shortly, chastising him for his obsession over what the volcano represents. Though he loves to relish in his aggression, he looks forward to the gentle quelling of his anger whenever she arrives at his side.
@[jenger]
His violet eyes - intense and bold - stare at the volcano with what seems like a seething anger. Every part of him is pulled tight like an arrow, muscles wound beneath his orange and purple skin like a spring. His weight shifts from one slender leg to the other, the deep purple of his hooves digging welts into the fertile soil of where he stands inland.
He hates the volcano; he hates this place. But he doesn’t leave, not yet, but instead broods beneath all of that anger, champing his mouth with fierce tosses of his galaxy-painted head, locks of vibrant purple and muted orange cascading around him with each sudden movement. He doesn’t belong here, neither of them do, but he cannot bring himself to cross the territory’s border into the rest of the world.
Perhaps there is fear seated deep within his hate, a reluctance to admit that they do not belong here not because they are better, but because they were mistakes. Unwanted, unplanned, a product of the dark god.
Aren’t they gods then, too?
He scowls at the thought, wondering what form he could use to make them realize how silly they are to ignore him so blatantly. He is worthy of their attention - far more than any of the others - yet he is cast aside as if the blood in his veins weren't the same as theirs. Skandar’s ears fall into the ombre of his tangled mane, snorting sharply. He is sure Lei would find him shortly, chastising him for his obsession over what the volcano represents. Though he loves to relish in his aggression, he looks forward to the gentle quelling of his anger whenever she arrives at his side.
@[jenger]