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MIST cloaks the devil as he slithers out of the Edge. He's angry, unable to hold himself still, after the days he'd spent lounging around following the morsel he'd encountered. The stallion was here with a purpose and that purpose was certainly not to make this land his new home. He'd only been here a few days and yet had already managed to forget that purpose. The play was in progress and there was not a planned intermission for this piece.
Somewhere in him, though, was a small flower just beginning to bud. It was this odd twinge that felt something like pain and happiness mixed together. It made him falter as soon as he'd felt it. Should Calstron have been more adept at emotions he might have recognized the feeling as healing. Perhaps he would have even rejoiced, let the feeling move through him, and jumped up singing hallelujah. Freedom realized and a healthy sanity washing over him. But alas, he was not. He simply grew perplexed and restless at feeling such an emotion.
Dawn was beginning to break over the horizon now. Calstron relished in the silence of the land as the sun peeked softly through the damp morning fog. It was such a glorious silence. The voices of the evil and of the corrupt couldn't reach him here, he would be alone. This was a time for mares and foals to cuddle up close and hit the snooze button one more time.
What might his life have been like had he simply been here his whole life? What if he'd never even met the Bitch? Did he even want to do this anymore? Was it worth giving up his entire life, all future hunts, all future fucks...all of it? It ashamed him that the response to these inner musings was silence.
Just as he reaches the edge of the World's Edge he spots something between the moss. Still-tired eyes fumble to find the culprit: a well worn divot in the ground. The peg's head tilts to the side in curiosity. He'd been under the assumption that the peninsula his home was on extended much further than this...yet here was a path suggesting otherwise. "Well, no time like the present, I suppose." says Ron in an exasperated whisper. At least it would give him something to do.
The path is soft, dusty even, but what it takes him to is something truly magnificent. When the crimson knight reaches the end of the path his breath escapes him, weakly, in a quiet exhalation of awe. There is a glassy lake framed with wispy grasses, reeds, and willow trees. The softness of this place was astonishing. He leans, emotionally empty, lost, against a tree and stares blankly at the view. What was he going to do?
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