Яikyn

Signs of Birdsong peered through the gossamer cloak of winter, such as the increased number of winged figures against the bright blue heavens, or the longer days, the dwindling dark. The Sun was warmer than it had been most of the year and it had been days since the last snow fall, the storms which had dumped snow now besieging the land with wind and threatening with the shadowy clouds of rain.

Rikyn noticed very little of it.

He spent most of his days alone, wandering the Basin or fighting imaginary foes, burning off the excess energy that seemed to flood his being now that his hormones had become active. When he wasn’t aimlessly gallivanting, he could be found with Ulrik, helping his father carry things from one place to another or talking more of the time he’d spent outside of Helovia. It seemed that his father was proud of the son that had returned home, even if there were times when Rikyn was not always a boy to be proud of (such as nearly locking horns with Ashamin over, well, nothing – which Ulrik had found funny, rather than something to scold his son over), and for this, he was glad; the worry that his sire would be mad at him, or, even worse, forget of him was very easily cast away in the first few days home, and the gold marked son of the Engineer soon found himself spending more and more time away from Ulrik, seeking to verify his validity in the often grumpy, dark coated stallion’s life much less than he had at first.

This, of course, led to boredom, when most of the caverns had been explored and the valley was, as far as Rikyn could be considered, conquered by his long steps and eager eyes. He couldn’t leave to view the rest of Helovia, as the land was still sealed in by the trench of snow that had nearly buried the herd alive in the last legs of Frostfall, and was left to aimlessly walking the same paths he had walked the days before, working out the soreness of his muscles and the new bruises and abrasions he had won in his spar with Ashamin (it had been a friendly one, honest!).

It reminded him, painfully, of his days walking with his mother, helping her tend to her stupid business. He certainly did not miss those days, when he had been forced to stand like a shadow alongside her and wonder what sort of fun his friends were getting into, but he also couldn’t help but think of how ironic it was that he was still wondering the same things.

He loathed being bored for such reasons. It allowed the mind to slip into dark trenches and other such places he normally sought to avoid, as with anything let to lay leisurely for too long would be covered in soil and filth.

He supposed that he should try to maybe make some new friends, but that would require a lot more effort on his behalf than he was truly willing to put forth at this time. Besides, his friends found him (besides Aithniel, of course, but she was his sister, after all) – it had been that way from the very first meeting in which Erebos had wandered up to him, all the way down the line until Furen had walked up to him that fateful afternoon in the meadow of the Nightwalk, and asked the young prince of Helovia if he’d like to learn about war.

That he was a prince no more did not affect the proud sway of his step, the height of his crown alluding to the arrogance that lies beneath. He had been raised beneath the towering gaze of these mountains, taught that they were his, and while his mother was gone, her legacy still remained, guarding the gates of their land, marking the histories of the two who his father now claimed ruled alongside Deimos with her boons and blessings. As far as Rikyn was concerned, he would always own a part of this valley, no matter who dared deny him his right, and he dared anyone to challenge his self given authority.

For all he tried to be someone other than his dam, the boy could not shake certain… qualities of himself that were spitting images of the golden bitch who had raised him, qualities that, if asked, had absolutely nothing to do with her.

Still, he couldn’t help but feel his desire for the stupid place lessen the longer he went without finding anyone of emotional value to him aside from his father, and more and more often he found himself haunting the threshold to the Basin, looking to see if he could escape and venture out into the world beyond, where surely his friends waited for him.

Today was a day of no luck, as those before it, and the chocolate dappled stag found himself venting his frustrations at having to remain in the snow bound realm by pressing his legs to carry him swiftly about the shoreline of the lake, the pale sand flying up behind him in the wild rush of his cloven hooves and his dark, tangled mane slapping against his neck with dull cracks. He’s always taken delight in this particular venture, the gritty feel of the sand clinging to his skin and the heat of the sun above almost making him forget that, just to his peripheral view, the snow still waits, still bars him in the vale that he had been so eager to return to.

[ OOC: Random swap to 3rd person ftw ~ ]

@Enna @Zunden

in every heart a hole