resurrect the saint within the wretch
The bay pegasus had always taken it upon himself to venture through the deep jungles of his home as well as find his hooves sinking into the black sand of Tephra’s beaches, or idly following the trails of the lava flows as they splinter through the landscape, bordered by cooling obsidian and then edged with the green-gold inland grasses. Now, however, it is not as simple as meandering through what has always been a familiar place - it is a patrol now, under his watchful gaze.
Perhaps the new title suits him far better than he had ever imagined; he is forced to place his thoughts elsewhere (in the present, particularly) and to use his neutral tone in a way that would benefit a kingdom. Since his succession, however, no visions have blinded his sight and showed him any sort of future events. In another time, Warden thinks bitterly, this would be a happy occurrence. But with the recent visit from the dragons of the East, the horned pegasus finds himself nearly wishing for his third eye to lend him some insight - however devastating the vision may be.
He is rather distracted, be it by his own inclination or the fact that his worries have grown tenfold. Either way, he nearly doesn’t catch the glimpse of dark shadow along with the inland grasses as he soars through warm thermals above Tephra. With barely a flinch of the lithe bones in his ivory wings, the stallion dips to the left and plummets downwards.
The ground shakes solidly as the weight of him lands upon it, his lope stuttering into a choppy trot while his wings remain outspread for a moment before fluttering them into the patched white and mahogany of his sides. His face appears proud and indifferent beneath the long spirals of horns that jut from his crown, sparkling a deep blue-black in the warm sunlight while the gemstones across his chest glint fiercely in the same way. His hooves are the same color but are hidden in the long grasses that nearly brush his underbelly as he makes his way towards her.
As he makes eye contact, he once again thinks of how only one autumn ago he would never approach a stranger if it could be avoided. But here he is (though it is without a smile and with a shadow across his brow), making his way towards her as if he had been made for such greetings and conversations. The horned stallion snorts softly as he comes to a halt, the wind around him stirring with the scent of sea and sun. Warden surveys her for a moment, just a breath, before he comments: “You weave through these lava flows with the ease of a native.” It would seem it is a compliment, but the expression his face currently holds is hard to decipher. He is perhaps about to say something else but decides to fall silent as the muscles in his jaw tighten.
@[Wishbone]
