Tiberios
06-22-2021, 11:15 AM
I can see the fire's still alight
There once was an old saying: the ancestors behind you guide you forward. A silly saying, one Tiberios never really thought of. He can’t remember who told him such a thing or why, but he reasoned that whoever it was had deeper knowledge of their past than he did. Trudging through the gray dawn hours, he made his way north along the coastline as directed and thought about everything he did not know.
His mother. Tiberios never had the chance to know her or know of her. What little information he’d gathered from Tiphon about his dam might’ve been nothing at all in comparison to the real mare, and at best he figured the things he did know were only a patchwork of compliments and kindness on his behalf.
She looked like him, he remembered that much. He thought she might have had some magic of sorts, nothing she passed onto him. Her name had been Mariposa. “And her mother’s name, my granddam? And her father’s name, my grandsire?” Tib thought uncomfortably, aggravating himself as he kept the brisk seaspan to his right and the hollow, foreboding emptiness of Pangea’s desert to his left.
History had swallowed one-half of him. Fate the other half. His burn scar itched with a ferocious desire to be scratched but he resisted, pushing himself into a lonely canter that left a trail of damp hoofprints behind him. At high tide the remnants of his being here in Pangea would wash away and that was as much a metaphor of his life as anything.
Tiberios had a higher purpose now. He slipped into Silver Cove by way of the eastern shore, tail flagging and lungs bellowing with fire that produced clouds of oily, black steam. He was not immortal like the others here, like the majority of gods and goddesses that called this world their home and pulled its strings like naughty puppeteers. They would grow bored with their games. He would have the satisfaction of growing old.
He had life still left to live and dammit he intended to see it through. The white-spotted stallion finally slowed when he’d exhausted himself, when the sweat on his skin ran in rivulets down the paper-soft folds of his nostrils, still flared. The morning sun was just beginning to peek her golden eyes above the horizon on his right and he had come to the best spot in all of Beqanna for it, unknowingly. He had been dead for so long that sights like the dawn or dusk still took his breath away, so he turned to face the sea with a pleased smile and waited for the first rays to light a match over the gray-toned world and set it aflame with color.
His mother. Tiberios never had the chance to know her or know of her. What little information he’d gathered from Tiphon about his dam might’ve been nothing at all in comparison to the real mare, and at best he figured the things he did know were only a patchwork of compliments and kindness on his behalf.
She looked like him, he remembered that much. He thought she might have had some magic of sorts, nothing she passed onto him. Her name had been Mariposa. “And her mother’s name, my granddam? And her father’s name, my grandsire?” Tib thought uncomfortably, aggravating himself as he kept the brisk seaspan to his right and the hollow, foreboding emptiness of Pangea’s desert to his left.
History had swallowed one-half of him. Fate the other half. His burn scar itched with a ferocious desire to be scratched but he resisted, pushing himself into a lonely canter that left a trail of damp hoofprints behind him. At high tide the remnants of his being here in Pangea would wash away and that was as much a metaphor of his life as anything.
Tiberios had a higher purpose now. He slipped into Silver Cove by way of the eastern shore, tail flagging and lungs bellowing with fire that produced clouds of oily, black steam. He was not immortal like the others here, like the majority of gods and goddesses that called this world their home and pulled its strings like naughty puppeteers. They would grow bored with their games. He would have the satisfaction of growing old.
He had life still left to live and dammit he intended to see it through. The white-spotted stallion finally slowed when he’d exhausted himself, when the sweat on his skin ran in rivulets down the paper-soft folds of his nostrils, still flared. The morning sun was just beginning to peek her golden eyes above the horizon on his right and he had come to the best spot in all of Beqanna for it, unknowingly. He had been dead for so long that sights like the dawn or dusk still took his breath away, so he turned to face the sea with a pleased smile and waited for the first rays to light a match over the gray-toned world and set it aflame with color.
@[Chemdog] but open to anyone else