| Hidden Account |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16hh :: 8 |
| M.E. |
His hiatus was a hibernation of studious inquiry, of endless discovery lost in the ivory snowdrifts and soulless tundra gusts capable of picking a scavenged corpse clean. This last analogy had been a phenomenon the Disciple had observed himself, spending many hours and days at a time with glazed, frozen eyes at the progress of the voracious wind. It was one of many marvels of the wild northern frontier that Zikar-Sin had taken upon himself to go to great lengths and document in his memory, tainted and free as it was from the weight of humane morals and empathy; his vapid enthusiasm blanketed totally all realms of his so-called affections—and in these balmy seasons, his passion for the sciences won out.
As the sun turned and tilted in the sky in its skewered path in the heavens, so did the seasons turn and shift almost underneath Sin’s feet—he could almost taste the difference in the air, the lack of warmth and added harrowed fang in the squalls of northern tundra. As much as it would have excited Sin to further observe the business of nature’s habit in the dead of winter, the dappled stud knew in the back of his brain that it would be foolish indeed to attempt to withstand the harshness of winter. Perhaps a brawnier fellow than he would taunt the savage northern winds, but Sin was naught but fur and bones and perhaps a birdling’s chest; he would not be built for prolonged insulation. And so, as the fang of winter’s wind began to bite a little harder than was customary, the Disciple knew it was time to return home once again to the twisted, shadowy peaks of the Aurora Basin.
Sin had left on the heels of an invasion—though the call for it had missed him entirely. Rather, he had been called to action, and Sin could not comprehend the reason for his summons; he was no warrior; surely he would do naught but bring shame and ruin to his family if he went to battle. He was called, yes, and he had not paid it much mind, choosing, instead, to spend his seasons in seclusion from the hustle and bustle of herd-life. Even so, he missed this valley and its warm, soothing hot-springs; its curious light-shows that proved to dazzle the Disciple every time he happened to set his eyes on the dancing lights of the Aurora; the sheltered caves that dotted the snowy plain, offering comfort, shelter, and seclusion from the bitter wind and the prying eyes of herd-mates.
One of these caves proved to be Zikar-Sin’s destination; he entered one with wide, scanning eyes, mildly angling himself toward a particular corner of the alcove. He found the spot rather easily; dragging his hoof over a rather shallow indentation in the dirt of the cave; he was rather pleased to see his sheepskin and horn preserved well in the cold of his eternal winter home. With a satisfied nod, Sin covered the spot once again, leaving a mental note that he should discover the Weaver Crowley as soon as it was convenient; now, however, there was another stallion with whom Sin wanted an audience. His head coming up straight and alert, Sin took a few moments to listen and smell for the old one’s scent, knowing he was prone to haunt these caves; he then lifted his voice somewhat, mild, pleasant, and oh-so perfectly polite as he called for his master.
“Myrddin?” Sin called, wandering out of the cave and scanning the vista before him, attempting to detect a hint of white against the snowy backdrop of the Basin. What an impossible task. “Myrddin, sir! I have returned, and I’m at your disposal as your Disciple, sir.”
[Sinny has returned and has no idea of herd changes! Someone should help out the poor little lost lamb ;-; ]
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IMG Credit: ness094@deviantart.com
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