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He had done so much; he had seen the diamonds, brilliant, lived through the crazed days when he played as a child with other young-faced souls, he had withered and decayed and crumbled and become little more than an aching soul, a broken heart.
The sun had never abandoned him, nor had the deities ever appeared to him. Did the gods here roam the earth, their hooves thudding on the earth? Did they have wings that blotted out the stars? Did the air still in their divine presence, did breathing halt, did eyes widen? Were they ancient, with lined faces and eyes hardened by a thousand horrific sights? Were they young and beautiful, angelic beings with brave hearts? Were they born immortal, or... changed? Did horses fall upon seeing them? What did they look like? Did the air thrum with their power? Did they burn to cinders those who opposed them?
Onni did not offer an answer. She doesn't tell him if there's a place that's safe, a sanctuary of peace.
Is this entire world filled with violence?
Revulsion rises in his throat, choking him, drowning him, dousing his lungs. He can't breathe out of jagged fear sinking into him. Is this the nature of equines? To fight and to survive and to war? To wage battle after fucking useless battle? To watch blood drip and swords flash, wings fall and mouths gape open, to see bodies crumple under the never-ending tide of brutality? To say bitter good-byes, again and again, to each horse who passed him, to desert and to flee? Even when all seems at peace, minds wage war, thoughts clash and snarl. It is not even possible to ride, to float along the drifting current. They will eat you alive. They devour and swallow, strip you of your purity, craft soldiers out of cowards, find numbers to march into battle first. They don't care for the families left crying, they don't shed tears for the ones who will never return home. A soul is a number to add to the sum of the army, nothing more.
Onni says something, and choking under emotion, he understands little. He nods vaguely, ignoring her smile, eyes distant and reflecting the stars.
Veins of the Gods she answers, to the east. He watches the gleam of the moon on Her feathers, but he is fraying, slowly, crumbling under the bizarre emotional breakdown he seems to be encountering. He wants to pray, to go to that island of rock in the ocean, but first... he will return north, seek out the truth, drag it from their lips if he had to fight it, wrestle honesty out of the cold soldiers. "Onni," he sighs, tail flicking, suddenly shifty, hooves moving beneath him, stirring. "Will you meet I on the first summer day, at those Veins distant?"
There is hope in his eyes as he studies her.
"I need to return north."
Then he turns, and he streaks away, fleeing her, not waiting for her answer, only hoping that on the Tallsun day, he will see Her again.
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[P] Drowning on the porcelain shores of the frozen ocean
