11-02-2020, 08:29 PM
your joy will turn to ashes in your mouth
They do not know him, but he knows them.
He hears all of their secrets, knows who is lying with who, knows what sinister plots and evil doings they think about in their sleep. He does not always mean to listen, and is more than able to tune them out should he want to. But a part of him enjoys listening to their mundane thoughts, their petty trials and tribulations. Their thoughts hang over him like a heavy fruit hanging from the bough of a tree, ripe for the picking and ready to be consumed. Some of them are not so open with their thoughts, and he makes no effort to pry. He has no reason to. For every creature who places up a mental block, there are a dozen more who leave their dirty laundry hanging on the neighborhood clothes line. if he has no life of his own, he can live vicariously through them.
With the arrival of winter, the meadow quiets. While it is certainly still a hub of activity, it lacks the variety that it offers him in the warmer months. Most of the remaining horses have nothing interesting to say, and their thoughts are equally as boring. He keeps himself to the outer edges of the place, lurking amongst the skeletal trees and mostly hidden from view. He wasn’t born to solitude, but had grown accustomed to it over the years. He was born royalty, a prince among princes. But Beqanna had lashed out at them, and punished them all for their petulance. Despite his exalted position, he had not been immune to the repercussions. Within the blink of an eye he had been robbed of everything he had ever known, retreating to the forest to find himself and gather his senses. He remains there today, though his powers have been returned to him. He has learned to use not his voice, but his mind, to make friends. At least, the closest thing he’s ever had to friends in years. It is not a reciprocated friendship by any means, but it keeps him sane. Mostly.
keel