.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
10-06-2012, 03:41 PM
Defeat…
He didn’t want to believe it. He would not tolerate it. He would not let it be so. He… could not do anything about it. The call had sounded. They were exiled, outcasted, driven from their home. They were not the herd of the World’s Edge anymore, they were a faceless mass of racist unicorns. Stays. Outcasts. Rovers. It was not right! The black bull had seen his brother fall to the ground. Dead? Lucius hadn’t even have time to make sure. Mauja had been slipping away through the forest and the bull didn’t want to lose him in the night. Besides why would he torment himself by looking at his twin’s battered, lifeless body? If he didn’t check, then hope would still be with him, the hope of Lloyd getting up and finding them. But he fared it was a fool’s hope. Before his obsidian body had became one with the night he had cast one look at the battlefield just as a big mare crushed the skull of Mauja’s pet. He had closed his eyes and turned away from the gruesome sound. And then on his way out of the Edge he had found the end of Monster’s rope. He had picked it up in his mouth and now he was carrying it at the rear of the group of the broken soldiers. Ice and snow crackled and creaked under his heavy hooves, white clouds rose from his mouth and nostrils and the sweat, which was seeping out because of his pain, turned to frost upon his back and neck. His fractured rib pained him with every step and every breath, but he kept going. They finally stopped and Lucius listened to the spur of emotions. He would have joined in, being the emotional creature he was, but he was too sad so be angry. Silently he stood at the rear of the gathering and not until all fell quiet he moved. He didn’t want to press his big bulk through them all so he went around and came towards Mauja from the right. He laid down the piece of the black rope beside his king’s feet and said: ”I’m sorry.” The bull then backed away into the faceless mass again. He had no doubt revenge would come, but for now he wanted to grieve. Later he could turn that grief into wrath, but not know. Not yet. Defeated? Maybe. But they would rise again.  |
