Zsoka

I live the death of the young and the free

The young is surprised--but should he be? It appears that now, now that he has been given the gift of the light of day once again, he is only to be faced with rejection. The massive mare in the wood with her wicked questions and now this one, this mother, who looks upon him with disgust.

Zsoka does not feel shame, for he cannot. In his heart, Knox descends deeper into it than the young colt can ever understand. He feels hot and cold all at once, he is shivering, and he is looking up now at that mare still filled out with the fat of pregnancy. His black eyes are begging: he wants to know why she has left him before he has even been able to speak. His thoughts echo his descendants, their meaning warped by age and innocence.

The young knows only this, thinks only this: What have I done?

He turns his head low, letting it strike the earth--as the mother rolled her children, he rolls himself to his side and lays there, his legs sprawled in the spirit of cold and his face flickering orange by the light of the fire. The ancestral bridle traces lines in the melting white. Is this, then, hope lost? Zsoka feel exhaustion he doesn't understand, exhaustion from murders he did not commit, murders he is stained by.

The young's ears fill with the screeching and screaming of the filly and colt. He watches with a dejected sort of frown as they move away from him. He notices the colt bears a stumble, one not unlike his own. "I am hurt too," he whispers, perhaps too quietly for any to hear, too distant from question for any to understand. I too, am hurt.

Above him stands that monstrously massive beast and Zsoka knows that from him a question has come. He knows he must answer it, he knows he cannot delay. He is covered in blood at the site of a birth, and the elder minds living within him inform him that he is under the attack of suspicion, let loose by his sudden appearance.

But he doesn't know the answer. He shifts, half-sitting, weak right fore shaking, threatening to tumble him back down to the earth. His black eyes find the deep brown ones of the massive stallion before him. The young has lost his bitter spunk and his ill-behaved charm. He is remembering, he thinks, that he once died.

The question rings: What has happened to you?
The answer, whispered, fearful: "I don't know."

""
[[@[Evangeline], @[Thor], @[Sariel], @[Uriel] ;-;]]