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 Talion A myriad of coruscating stars dotted the inky fabric of the sky, the waning moon partially covered by wooden poles, bestowing a lustre light on the grass below. A stallion that - had it not been for the albicant mask priding his face, would have become one with the night - had stopped on a grassland hill at the very edge of the encompassing darkness of the woodland. One could only phantom the streams of thoughts running through his mind, a yonderly gaze firmly planted towards the nocturnal sky. Was it longing that glimmered in his eyes, a hiraeth for a place that can only be reached by the mortality of men? Long did he stand like this, long enough for the chill of a spring’s night to set in his bones. At last a prolonged sigh detached his gaze as he shook his bulging neck, the trimmed mane swaying in rhythm to the movements. The lines of trees before him looked no different than the countless forests he had roamed before, the forest canopy blocking most attempts of reproach by the couriers of the moon. However, despite the blasé looks of it he could not shake the feeling that he stood at the threshold of something greater. Like the hardwood stood as sempiternal sentinels, guarding whatever lay beyond with a divine wisdom. Unsated wanderlust edged him forward and he began to walk towards the beckoning of new adventures. Yet, no purpose marked his steps, but what is a man without a purpose; a free man, or a burdened one? |
