i’ve been both a saint & a viper
The fighting had taken much from him; much of his strength and it even satiated all that anger that now writhes freely within him. Though the time he had spent in the arena had taken much from him, it seems to now give him something in return.
Something barely noticeable; something only Balto himself begins to feel the aching of. Something in his bones, instinctual and primal - something unlike his demons and their hushed voices. His head splits with pain, caused more by the darkness that overwhelmingly exhumes all of Beqanna. The darkness of his legs and face seem to spread further into his body, while something much like hunger shakes his ribs and growls incessantly.
The blue mottled stallion is whimpering into the bark of a damp tree, his forehead pressed heavily into its berth as he attempts to soothe the throbbing pulse of his head. The deep red of the Alliance is branded into his throat, like a bloodied hand gripping him tightly, but it is lost in the starless night - just as he is.
And then, for a moment, there is clarity.
Balto,
And his whimpering stops.
Old friend.
The stallion turns from the tree, releasing the relentless pressing of his head to its bark and turning to meet the familiar voice with icy, cold eyes. The terrible smile that greets him is met with the whispering of his own internal demons, flush against his dark ears and speaking dark thoughts into his mind. Can Jamie hear them?
“Have you finally come to finish the job?” Balto’s voice is weak and dry, brittle as it crackles in his throat. The malice that he had found in the battlefield has long since waned and instead there is the same man that stood before Jamie ages ago - helpless and drowning, yet without the power (or the will) to pull himself from the pit.
Balto
@[jamie]