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12-24-2014, 12:11 AM
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Such symphonic life took hold of Helovia during spring, avians weaving their poetry songs to ensnare their mates - some for a season, others for life; small younglings of all kinds frittered about the forest floor and amongst the trees, chattering and laughing, playing and frolicking, experiencing the joys of childhood and the carefree time it was. Torleik remembered when he was a small one, all legs and no muscle, stumpy little horns and no beard. He remembered playing with the other children in their village, remembered his brother staring at him, wide-eyed and asking what had just happened, not understanding birth. Remembered finding Ulrik, the strange, quiet cousin in the back of the group when they were older and speaking with him a little - but he was too foolish then to understand why odd Ulrik stayed off to the side or in the background. The Bloodskald had never understood why his brother was treated so differently, why he and his mother were clearly loved, but clearly not quite...in place. The elder sibling had always been groomed for 'a different life' his father had said and Torleik had questioned what that meant. Why he never fought, why he spent so much time with father at the Thing, why he went with the King all those summers ago. The strangeness of everything had faded, like the luster on a piece of silver, as the rune-horned had grown older. He'd learned his brother was of another mare, a princess, and so his half-sibling was of noble blood; he, on the other hand, was born of a shieldmaiden, and destined to be a warrior. He'd found no inherent greatness in nobility then, and still did not, now. A warrior's life was honest, his death set to be in battle, his honor guaranteed if he fought well. Noblemen...they were slippery, like eels, gilded and pretty but lacking substance. They were rather like spring. All the pomp and circumstance of a world recovering from a dearth of everything, only to have it all fade away once more. Even lost in his thoughts as he was, and Irelyn napping on his back, Torleik heard the distinct clink of metal over nature's soundrack, and sought out its source. Who else was nearby? Were they armored? Was it more than one? Was a foreign army here somehow? Shaking his head, the Bloodskald quieted his overactive mind. What foreign army could pass through without losing any advantage in magic they might think they possessed? Besides, this place seemed only to be found by those who were lost. But the aimless wanderer the blue-eyed demon found was the last one he'd ever expected to see. Legs went numb and he stumbled, stars popping on the edge of his vision that closed swiftly in to a fine point, seeing only this stallion. The breath in his chest was shallow, the space it tried to infiltrate tight and closed off; his mouth was dry as the scorched timbers of his former home and his tongue stuck thickly to the roof of his mouth as his mind struggled to catch up with what his gut knew. His voice eeked out in a hoarse whisper, trembling with all the unshed tears he held for ones lost. "Bolverik..." "talk talk talk" @[Bolverik] ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------- HALF BROS FOR LIFE. BROHOOF.  |
![[Image: 531c0b471919e]](http://images.helovia.net/index.php/view/531c0b471919e)
No man is an island.
Pixel by: Tamme :D
Pixel by: Tamme :D
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