Bleeding Hearts

the Rift

[PRIVATE] Bleeding Hearts

Bucephalus the Morningstar Posts: 292

Hidden Account atk: 7 | def: 9.5 | dam: 4

Stallion :: Pegasus :: 16.1 :: 6 || Tallsun HP: 67 | Buff: NOVICE

Azeeza :: Orange-breasted Falcon :: None Tribs

11-25-2014, 10:03 PM

[Image: 9e6b3ad4-a8c4-4003-bd66-cb75589c58e6_zps...1415597174]

Wind licked across the shores of the ocean, whipping up sand and threading itself through Bucephalus's gnarled mane. But he minded not, his gaze flickering over the sea with a certain fondness. Many events in his life occurred near her salty grasp. On the sea's beach he had loved, lost, killed, fought, bled... The ocean shores were as much his home as the desert dunes. The water lapped at his hooves, sucking at the sand beneath them as if inviting him to dance and play among the waves as he used to, once upon a time. But that time was past, and he was far older than he had been. Or...he felt older. Older than he physically was. It was a side effect of war, loss, grief and exile. That tended to make one grow up rather swiftly, too swiftly.

But he could not deny his second lover's request, nor his first as the wind slid her velvety embrace under his wings and across his body. With a laugh he lept forward, galloping across the shallows as fast as he could, water flying from his hooves. The water was harder to run through, but the sound of his hoofbeats and the rush of wind and water in his ears was worth it. He slowed to a walk, not wishing to exert himself too much. It was an incredibly long flight back home, even with good currents. So he settled for the short sprint, tossing his head in an attempt to untangle his mane, but as per usual it remained knotted and thick against his neck. Should he take the time to detangle it, the locks would most likely brush his chest, rather than the bottom of his throat.

His gaze roamed across the beach, and as he walked he examined the shells he could see, nudging those that caught his interest. A few he put in his chest pouches; one sunrise-hued conch and a couple spiral shells. The rest he left to the sea. His gaze lifted from the beach to the sheer cliffs that lined the beach, isolating it from the rest of the world. A figure of white caught his attention, and a faint smile pulled at his lips. Seems he was not the only one enjoying the view. His gaze went out to sea in admiration, but when he looked back it was to see the figure leap from the cliff to it's demise.

Alarm slammed into the black like a boulder, and he tore off down the beach, wings snapping open and churning at the air to lift him up, and the second he was airborne he shot towards the cliff full speed. Wings a blurr as he flew over, gaze scanning the dark waters below. There! White interrupted the blue, and he dropped lower, eyes widening. The horse was alive... and it was Brisa. He swooped down towards the waves, before tucking wing and diving into the water.

Water filled his nose, and when his head broke the surface he snorted the fluid out in a spray, nostrils flared. Instinct kicked in, his legs churning as he kept himself afloat, then moving towards Brisa. Wings were of no help here, and he held them as tight to his spine as he could to reduce drag as he swam. When he got close enough, his teeth found her pale mane and he pulled to help keep her head above water as he swam towards shore, muscles screaming in protest. He didn't let go of her mane until they were on shore, then he released her hair only to whirl and face her, ears pinned straight back. "What the hell is wrong with you?!" He demanded, the frigid air stinging his wet hide. With the thin winter coat his dominant breeding gave him, being soaked and out in the cold are was a bad combination, and he didn't think the snowy mare before him would fare any better. "You could have gotten yourself killed!" Why he cared... hell he didn't know. Watching a horse leap to their (almost)certain doom tended to make one care.

Word Count:688 Tags:@[Brisa]

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Any force is allowed against short of death.

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