It could be ironic that, of all the places in Helovia, the Warlander finds himself here. With pale hooves resting heavily among the snow and grass, over packed earth that had once been overturned by his own doing, at the roots of this particular tree, it is as though he has been placed—pulled, heaved, and fitted—into this very spot. And not for the first time. Brown lips press together as he suppresses a laugh, only to allow something of a bark to rumble from his chest a moment later. Life will never cease to mock and laugh at his face—so why not laugh back?

The length of his tail whips once around his burly rump, the creamy tassels caught for a moment in a cold breeze before they fall to brush the ground. There is some part of him that is desperate to leave, to flee from this place and abandon the memories engrained here—but he doesn’t. He can’t even move. There is another part, a deeper part of him that sits heavily in his gut, spreading through his bones until he is rooted where he stands.

It is the part of him—a hidden, secret place that he keeps carefully hidden from everyone, even himself (especially himself)—the part of him that doesn’t want to leave. In some desperate, cruel way, he clings to these memories, these feelings, that he might never forget.

And the harder he pushes them away, the more they tighten around his heart.

It is a battle that he only half-heartedly fights to win.

Sighing heavily, Rohan lowers his head, closing his eyes in a long blink before he hears something. It is the soft clinking of metal, light and mellow, nearly lost to the cool breeze. A dark-rimmed ear twitches, nostrils curling as he raises his eyes to peer through the branches—still bare from the grips of winter—making the glittering band of gold easy to see. Furrowing his brow and wondering how he hadn’t noticed it before, the Warlander reaches up, rising to a half-rear in order to touch the jeweled bracelet and brush it from the branches.

It falls unceremoniously to the frozen ground, green eyes watching it with a reserved sort of wonder. His mind quickly spins a fantasy of the tree, the child that lay beneath its roots, and this jewel-leafed band that has fallen from its branches, tethering it to those infernal ropes that are already wrapped around his heart. Stepping forward to place a hoof in the bracelet, he works it up to his upper leg, where it rests softly but firmly (not unlike those hellish cords entrenched in his chest).


notes; First post in weeks and omg I might actually like it =O
“Speech.”

awake my soul