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I would be quite willing to admit his dark tones and sad voice startled me as he posed the question of my recklessness and the possibility of death. It was something I had never really considered before, an aspect of my personality that was more more important than I realized. As it was, his question made me uncomfortable, at least, slightly uncomfortable, although I did not feel threatened at all by the black steed tipped with white. Melancholy, despondent, despairing, cheerless, dejected- all wonderful adjectives to describe this stallion. Yet, I did not feel he would pose any danger to me, no matter how easily sadness could turn to bitter anger. In honesty, I felt pity, if anything. How one could allow themselves to turn so easily into a mournful, lugubrious being was hardly comprehensible to my bright mind.
This time, he questions if everything is my family. No. Those who are undeserving, those who run wild, those who will not listen. That is not to say I am the holder of power, but I listen to any who wish to speak, and I would only expect the same in return. "I am reckless, and I may be foolish. But everything is not my herd- those who have proven themselves, those young and those old, those who may not protect themselves. I believe I am one of the few bringers of justice to this world, but a mare, or stallion for that matter, cannot change the world alone. It's vain of me to say so, but is it wrong for me to say?"
However, he had posed another question, so I pondered it. It appealed to the deeper layers of my personality, it wove in and out. I suppose my personality is structured of two main things- my upbringing and the madness that strikes from time to time. I've always been a believer in honor, in righteousness and a strong mind. Reckless? I've been taught strategy and strength, but I guess going slowly in the midst of the battle has never been my strong point. As for death... death is inevitable, whether you pass away in the leaves of an autumn twenty years from now, or are speared by the unicorn's horn, or your throat ripped in two years by an equine's teeth. Death shapes me as well. Living bright and living strong is a gift of life, and you should live to your fullest before the passing of ways, where your soul parts from your body and enters the hall of the spectators of earth.
I allow myself to form words on my tongue, words I feel are better formed to suit this broken soldier. "I chase the danger and I should learn, and I do take it to mind." Perhaps that muddled, mangled sentence did not connect well. Let me try again. "What I mean to say is, why should I let my heart be broken and cut into little pieces, and allow myself to linger on it? Moving forward, always moving, is best." My words soften a touch. Chances are this stallion is heart-broken. "I always live in the present, at least for almost always, and why should I allow myself to wallow in self-pity when there are places to be and places to see? Death will come and take us all one day, whether it be tomorrow or in twenty years, or in six months."
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