A P O L L O

And how can you say that your truth is better than ours?
Shoulder to shoulder, now brother, we carry no arms

North he had traveled.

Up and up and up the winding path the Merciful went, hooves moving slow and head held low, fueled by a strange sense of wanderlust despite the Tallsun heat. The black and white creature was feeling the effects of the harsh summer, there were no doubts about that. Internally he felt drained and lethargic, spurred by the heat, but externally his coat was beginning to bleach. Along his withers, back, and down the elegant curvature of his rump, Apollo's once ebonite coat was bleached to almost a hideous, grainy brown. Far from a vain creature, the stallion tried to tell himself that he didn't care... And yet, a small part of him couldn't help but feel annoyed. Some summers his coat was brutalized by the sun, and others he was left alone. It all depended on the sun.

Honey-brown eyes glanced upwards towards the evening sky, the heavy clop-clop-clop of his hooves the only sound of company. At least his random bout of explorative urges had waited for the heat of the day to pass. Through the Foothills he had traveled, going north up the twisting, mountainous path that led to the Heavenly Fields. Lately Apollo had been traveling to the Plain of the Heavens to find peace of mind. It was there that he felt... Calm. Relaxed. Normal.

Little was on the stag's mind as he moved, fueled only by the desire to wander and lose himself to his musings. With each slow-strided step that he took, Apollo's worries and troubles slipped from his shoulders like sweat. Antheia's supposed death, the cumbersome mantle of leadership... Later, he told himself, gaze taking in the reds and purples of the setting sun, Later I will worry... For now, just let my soul be free.

Cresting the top of the path, the stallion paused as if momentarily frozen. He made for quite a sight; head poised low and aligned with his withers, his body completely still save the breeze that rippled the strands of his mane and tail. So still... The wind picked up then, whipping the mane from his neck, and as it did, Apollo's head lifted. Nostrils flared. Eyes widened... And like a bullet the weary Chief of the Foothills shot off across the field.

Let me be free!

Thunderous hooves resonated within the evening air, Apollo's nostrils puffing and flaring as he pushed himself across the grassy fields. He hopped over crevices or rocks, skirted along the mountainside, and for the first time since Apollo could remember, he laughed. It bubbled up through his lungs as he ran and frolicked through the fields like a colt, pausing only long enough in his mad-dash to push his front end off the ground and twist and turn, high in the air.

A solo ballet, he was performing... And the oncoming night was his audience.

@[Ktulu]