Lace the Silverthorn Posts: 459
| Deceased atk: 5 | def: 9 | dam: 5.5 |
| Stallion :: Equine :: 15.3 hh :: 14 HP: 65 | Buff: NOVICE |
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Fajira :: Plain White Dragon :: Fire Breath
Chan |
LACE
Who, in his mind,
has not probed the dark water?
The sun had set, and a soft breeze whispered across the sands. The dunes that normally glowed red during the day looked oddly desaturated in the moonlight, as though the vibrant color was nothing but an illusion, a trick of the light. There was warmth lingering in the air still, though it was bound to fade as the cloudless sky failed to trap any of the days heat to the earth. It had rained earlier, a sudden downpour that washed the rocky ravines clean from dust and debris as brown torrents rushed by; coming, then disappearing like nothing had happened. It was hard to believe now as the moonlit stallion padded through the dunes towards the sea, looking as colorless and faded as the landscape that surrounded him; the sands were dry and shifty as always and there was neither humidity nor mist in the air; only a slight change in the quality of the wind suggested that something had changed, a slight dustiness that had eased up so that the nostrils didn't clog as much.
He felt a certain sense of nostalgia when watching the glittering line of the ocean grow steadily thicker as he approached the shoreline. The scenery frequently overlapped with another he had once known, a beach far away in a different time. That beach had been moonlit too, and the air had tasted the same as he walked along the pale sands at night; of salt and kelp, of wind and rock and something undefinable that reminded him of tears. As he gazed out across the quiet gulf he could almost see them there, roving alongside him. Aera, a dark shadow on his left, and there Soleil prancing excitedly before him; she had been dark in color then, and small - not at all like the refined lady she had matured into when he saw her last. Behind him he could almost sense the steady tramp of Terrador's massive bulk, behind him the softer, almost imperceptible tread of the blinded Aysun, so full of life. If he listened, he felt like he might be able to hear the Raindancer's sorrowful voice speak of lost lands and troubled times, hear a sharp tang of excitment in the laughter of Querida as she watch him go ahead to fulfill dreadful duties - as befitting of a traitor.
It was hard to believe that so much time had passed. But it was many years since he had patrolled the borders of the Tides under the watchful gaze of the stars, many a moon since he had last set foot on Isilme's cursed soils. With age his memories faded, and as he grew older he was gradually beginning to forgive his foolish self and the things he did without considering the consequences. It was conceited to think that his actions had started the war of the Tides; it would have happened anyway, caused by the greed of the Equine Empire and the refusal of the unicorns to bow to anyone. If he hadn't done what he did, someone else might have; if he had stayed in the Tides someone else might have danced with Nepdon in preparation for the assault, might have sat long nights in council with Nato and Querida...
Dwelling over it had never caused him anything but grief, but this night the Silverthorn felt his years even though they didn't show upon his hide, and as he walked down into the tempered waters to let the waves lap at his legs he sighed, wistfully. His memories were naught but ghosts of the past, a trick of the moonlight; he was quite alone where he stood, gazing at the moon and the stars and the endless ocean.
He wondered if he would always feel this way, cut off from the world, a ghost walking among the living; as though, somewhere along the road, he had left his true life behind and forgot the way back.
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