A slow, quivering breath left twitching nostrils, mist rising up and dissipating in the cold air. The midday sun offered little warmth on this Frostfall afternoon, and Apollo found himself nervously shifting from hoof to hoof at the herd borders. He felt like a stranger to this land... But maybe that was because he was.

His name held no meaning here, in the land that was once ruled by the benevolent hooves of his Golden Brother. He felt as an intruder, unwarranted and unwelcome, unloved in this land that his brothers and sisters had fought for... But was it worth it?

No.

Nothing was ever worth violence. Bloodshed. Death.

Oh, Midas...

What the Gallant must think of him now, traipsing upon the earth that he had so loyally served for so long, called to power by the God of the Earth himself when the Foothills had fallen and Apollo had been unworthy as Chief. The emotions rolled and burned within his gut, creating a colicing pain that was terrible and unbearable... But it all paled compared to the agony that gripped the beating heart in his ebony breast.

Liar, his mind accused, vivid flashes of memory biting his brain of a mid-summer's rain storm, of hooves clashing and teeth gnashing as he fought, violently, with Confutatis to protect the Foothills and his family... That had been worth it. The violence. The pain. He had fought to protect those he had loved, family and strangers alike, but it had meant very little.

A soft, nostalgic smile turned the stallion's lips upwards, but it did nothing to melt the frozen feeling of sadness and self-loathing in his gut. Upon his back, Zola stretched, disliking this side of Apollo. She and the overo stag had developed a close, intimate bond that could not be broken, and she felt his self-loathing, his sadness and guilt, and so the little kit spoke.

'Stop,' the blind feline chastised, pressing her whiskered face into the Merciful's shaggy shoulders, 'Not you. No blame.'

Although at eight months, Zola was fully grown. Her sleek, black body was stunted due to her premature birth, and Apollo knew she would always be small and vulnerable... But she was healthy, and that was all that he needed to know.

"I know, my ball of earth," Apollo whispered in response, honey-brown orbs lingering on the frozen landscape before them. "I... I just cannot help it. It feels so wrong being here." And yet... So right.

Maybe living here, serving the Earth God once more as he had once done as Chief of the Foothills, sacrificing for this very same earth and serving those that he loved, he could protect Midas' memory. Maybe... Just maybe, he could find some kind of inner piece by doing such a thing.

Sensing his change in thoughts, Zola purred, licking his fur with her sand-paper tongue. Breathing in a deep breath to fill his lungs, Apollo released a loud, beckoning nicker, hoping that someone would come to greet him, and hopefully, welcome him home.

ooc: -coughs- Um, well. Apollo's come back. :D Open to anyone!