but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams

Make a space for my body
Dead or whole push this side apart
This is what I'm controlling
It's a mold, the inside that I cart

He had walked this road more times than he could count—east and west, across the face of Helovia, trudging across the open expanse of the Thistle Meadow to come to either the Threshold or the Edge. It had been many years until he had thought to stop in the Meadow and see what it held, who he could find, and what would happen; for a long time it had simply served as his highway.

And now it did again, because he was back in the Edge. Back where he had begun in Helovia half his life ago.

It was odd to think of, really. He had been a bloodied executioner on the run from those he had served, and despite having suffered the flaws of those ideals he had carried them with him—met the lady of the darkness and set up a sect to cleanse Helovia of the impure.

The hornless. And look at him now: King of the Edge again. No Plague. Mixed herd. The wheels had turned and spun and the circle come back to its starting point, but everything had changed. The premises were all different. As the ground began to gently slope up, Mau craned his head to look at his companion. A black stallion with a broken horn. Entia, here to give the Edge a chance to show its worth. A unicorn—about the only haunting element of his bloody past.

He didn't even know what he wanted anymore. What he wanted from his herd, from his kingship. He hadn't meant to become King here again, damnit—but Kahlua had chosen him, and he hadn't had the brains to say no.

Hiding behind racism had been so easy. It had given them purpose and unity, dreams of glory, a future, a path of blood and war to march proudly down, horns held high to the sky. What did they have now? What were they but just another stagnant, stationary piece on the face of Helovia? He had signed up for their wicked peace and now he was stuck in the face of that giant machine.

Early spring trees changed to evergreens, fog slowly claiming the horizon. The sun was slipping down behind the tall needle crowns, creating ghost-lights through their thick trunks and striking the broken glass wall with a soft, golden glow. Mauja paused next to it, waiting for Entia to settle beside him. "The Edge," he said, quietly, brushing his plush muzzle against the cold glass. "This is our official border, a remnant of a narrow-minded herd long since past. Watch the edges." And then, he stepped through the gap where a large chunk of it had fallen out, and into his woodland realm; beneath the last soggy slush of winter the moss lurked, and from somewhere further up the forest came the scent of brine, and the distant call of a lonely sea gull.

Home, he thought, stepping aside to let Entia through and peering at him. What would he think of it?

[ For @Entia to check us out, I'd love some company from another Edger though! ^^ ]

man, I ain't changed, but I know I ain't the same