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06-05-2014, 03:29 PM
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TORLEIK
Long is the winter of a man's soul Torleik listened to Illynx’s words, thinking of what lay to the west. The Endless Blue, the World’s Edge…he hadn’t explored further southwest into the marshes and swamplands but once – and from what he’d heard, that area was a wasteland now. Unlikely she would be there…and unless she had defected to the Edge, unlikely she would be allowed within that herdland as well. If the former leader of the Basin was indeed to the west, then the cliffs and oceanfront were the best bet. To have the opportunity to visit the waters again was a boon to the rabicano stallion. Being landlocked as they were in the Basin made him restless some days; he was used to living on the coast, able to enter the water whenever he pleased. The Basin had a lake but that was no massive ocean with surfs and tides. The sun did not please him, dark colored as he was, but he could handle it for a journey. The pace his Lady set was swift and with purpose, and the larger stallion kept up with ease for longer than she might have thought him capable of matching her. His strides were large and ate up almost two of hers. Torleik glanced her way when he felt her gaze, curious at the smile on her lips. He was already becoming accustomed to having no inkling of what was going through her mind, though he assumed it was something with twists and turns and sharp, prickly thorns to it. “Ulrik said little, so I know little. All I am truly aware of is how the power has shifted in the Basin since I arrived. Faelene gave me a small amount of history, but I would start from the beginning, if you will,” the dual-horned demon replied, glad to be listening to a tapestry of history. He and his people loved such oral traditions. He smiled just a hint when she mentioned his stories. “I am sure I could,” the male murmured. As the words flowed from her mouth, their pace eventually slowed (for which he was grateful), and Torleik learned as much about the Basin as he could. The history was fascinating, though a theme of exclusion and racism seemed to border the edges of this as of yet unfinished tapestry. This didn’t surprise him, only confirmed suspicions that this place, these people, were elitists, lovers of their own kind. Against pegasi Torleik felt no real urge to change their mind, but equines, the naturally hornless…there was nothing wrong with them. He supposed they viewed it as being born less fully formed, more debased, lacking a horn. Torleik simply saw it as less effective in the physical sense. Of particular interest to Illynx, it seemed, was the relationship between Psyche and a stallion named Mauja. Her description of him rendered him a self-serving, self-pitying, borderline emotionally abusive male. Torleik disliked him immediately, and doubted his opinion of the man would change even if he met him. A real man did not abandon his woman, did not walk away and break her heart with little remorse, did not wallow in his own problems to the neglect of others’ needs. She claimed that surely no other males of the Basin were as pathetic as Mauja, and the glacial-eyed demon nodded. “A weak, selfish man, to be sure,” he murmured, finding their footing shifting to short grasses and soft sand. Torleik’s gaze settled on the Gilded Lady’s fretful face, mulling quietly over her words. “If it has been properly bolstered inside,” he replied. “Such friends as you are that bolstering.” Unsure if he believed that or not, he spoke the words regardless. As slippery and self-serving as Illynx herself seemed, reflective of Mauja in that way, the woman also seemed far more dedicated to Psyche than any other goal, desire, object or person in her life. There was something to be said for that, the stallion thought. So they searched, but there was no one to be found near the sea. He could sense the mare’s disappointment sitting heavily on her form, permeating the air around her with a thickness that was palpable. Nodding quietly, the stallion searched for a place for them to rest, settling on a raised outcropping of rocks. It would protect against the wind in one direction and offer some shelter, at least. Making his way over, he tiredly sunk into the soft sand, back against the rocks. It had been a very long day, he realized now, and his feet hurt. Tomorrow, they would wake up and do it all again. “Where do we go from here?” "talk talk talk" 'Mental talking' Thoughts |
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No man is an island.
Pixel by: Tamme :D
Pixel by: Tamme :D
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