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01-14-2014, 12:31 PM
The days in the sanctuary seemed to be flying past his eyes. Time was slipping quickly, and the man still felt useless. He was born to be a warrior, someone that would never back down no matter how many times he was crushed (hence his "extravagant" name). But yet here the palomino was, aimlessly wandering, dying to get to interact with his people, and be of some use. The memories of the grand war when he was younger flooded his mind. Pictures of the horses in battle, faded sounds of agony, and screeching. Traumatizing images that would never erase, yet winning back his home with the price of never being able to return was worth those glances.
He wanted to do this favor for the Throat, to risk his life. Phoenix didn't even care about dying, he just needed to play hero once more and protect those held close to him. To feel important once more instead of a faded drawing in the background. Darkness enveloped his taut form as all colors faded into musty gray. An overwhelming stench met the stallion's nostrils, a smell that was different than the musty, damp scent. It was one of blood and flesh. Frowning slightly with concern, Phoenix did not care about social interactions at this moment.
Someone was injured, and he would help. Two--no three horses came into view, though the onyx stallion was crumpled on the ground. Scarlet blood leaked out of incisions where his wings should have been, forming a red pool beneath his bod. A sickening feeling arose in his stomach, forcing it down, he approached the scene carefully. The gray form of Africa caught his sight, and though a smile wanted to shine, it couldn't appear upon his maw. A foreign stallion stood confidently besides, seeming to know what he was doing. It was at that moment after elongated silence that Phoenix spoke.
"Is there any assistance required?" Tones were concerned and his face portrayed hints of pity. The fellow stallion strewn upon the ground reeked of blood and Throat. He was his herd mate. Later on, he would try to acquaint himself with the man, but for now he was focused on aiding the three.
He wanted to do this favor for the Throat, to risk his life. Phoenix didn't even care about dying, he just needed to play hero once more and protect those held close to him. To feel important once more instead of a faded drawing in the background. Darkness enveloped his taut form as all colors faded into musty gray. An overwhelming stench met the stallion's nostrils, a smell that was different than the musty, damp scent. It was one of blood and flesh. Frowning slightly with concern, Phoenix did not care about social interactions at this moment.
Someone was injured, and he would help. Two--no three horses came into view, though the onyx stallion was crumpled on the ground. Scarlet blood leaked out of incisions where his wings should have been, forming a red pool beneath his bod. A sickening feeling arose in his stomach, forcing it down, he approached the scene carefully. The gray form of Africa caught his sight, and though a smile wanted to shine, it couldn't appear upon his maw. A foreign stallion stood confidently besides, seeming to know what he was doing. It was at that moment after elongated silence that Phoenix spoke.
"Is there any assistance required?" Tones were concerned and his face portrayed hints of pity. The fellow stallion strewn upon the ground reeked of blood and Throat. He was his herd mate. Later on, he would try to acquaint himself with the man, but for now he was focused on aiding the three.
