Wanderlust was not an emotion that Apollo was adept at handling. Normally he was content within the boundaries of the Hidden Falls, content with being among familiar friends, family, but lately... Lately, something had pulled at his heart, urging him to leave behind the protective borders of his home and strike off on his own with only Zola as his company. Only temporarily, of course, for he had every intention on returning.

First, he had ventured to the Deep Forest, greeting the trees that grew alive and prospered in the crisp Birdsong season. He checked up on the wise and ancient fir tree, ensuring its health and beauty, eyes momentarily catching the shades of the ruby red stones nestled beneath the pond at the fir's grand trunk. Apollo recalled the stone he had given Lyanna, the kindred mare he had encountered many suns past, and the memory drew a gentle smile to the Merciful's lips. He bid the wise fir good day and sent up a prayer to Father Earth for its continued good health, then continued on his way.

From there, he travels brought him to achingly familiar sandy beaches, and the unnerving sound of crashing waves along granulated shores. By the time he had reached his destination, the sun was setting across the Endless Blue, creating a tapestry of colors in the sky. Oranges, pinks, reds, and purples, all blended in the sky to create an image worthy of a epic poem... But Apollo was not good with words, nor was he terribly poetic, and so the monochromatic stag was content to meander across the shoreline, keeping a vast distance for the grasping, reaching waves that just begged to pull him under.

He was not such a fool to forget what had happened on these very shores...

Had it truly been so long ago? That he and Phaedra had fought the monstrous Kraken in these very waters? Had fought a pack of feral wolves on the beach? They had almost lost their lives, almost crushed, drown, and torn asunder by wolves, and...

"... And she still lost hers." He had loved her, once upon a time, wholly and completely... But he had loved many others just as wholly, just as deeply and completely, only for that love to be unrequited. Only for death to greedily snatch them from his life. It seemed that death was all that followed Apollo the Merciful, and he felt unworthy of the vivacious life that he continued to be blessed with. Was it a punishment? A curse?

Upon his withers, Zola let out a small, distressed sound. No, no... Not a curse, Apollo; a blessing.

A blessing of life.

She was right. Life was a blessing, and was not to be wasted.

A tired smile lit up Apollo's handsomely aging features, honey-brown eyes brightening despite the melancholy mood that so swiftly sunk into his bones. Ears perked forward, his head lifted a little higher, and with a swish of an ebony tail, the overo stallion turned to continue his leisurely stroll across the white sands of the shoreline.

A blessing of life, indeed.