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Everything hurts.
A part of him marvels that he doesn’t feel it more, but perhaps that is simply what happens when you lose part of your soul. Sure, the right side of his face is all blister and singed skin, half of the flesh burned away as a result of the dragon’s attack. His right hind leg is useless, swinging listlessly as the once-proud prince shuffles forward. His right wing is ragged and crooked, held awkwardly as a result of the horn that gouged into him in the horrific attack on the beach.
But all of that pales in comparison to the emptiness stretching like a void inside his mind.
Zarina’s body, cold and still, is settled upon his withers, held carefully between his folded wings. She is not dead – or if she is, he refuses to admit it – but she is not awake, and he feels not even the slightest tickle of her mind within his own. She has been unconscious since the attack – merely a day before – and if he cannot get her to a healer soon, he knows that she will perish. Already she is slipping away, despite his repeated attempts to lure her back into the land of the living.
He is not far behind her, in truth; his movement is agonizingly slow and painful, his vision hindered by the burns that destroyed his right eye. There is little chance that he will make it to a herdland, or find anyone with whom he can find refuge, not before the end comes to claim him. If only it had ended on the beach, if only the pair that had attacked him had heeded his begging and ended his suffering. But no – their cruelty ran deeper than that.
But the Ancient Rotunda is as good a place as any to die. The stallion winces as he leans against a pillar, the gently waving cloth that drapes the entrances caressing his bruised and battered frame. How many memories this place holds for the stallion – probably more than he can remember, given his history. It is blessedly deserted now, leaving him alone to process the end of what has been a thoroughly miserable existence.
He is scared, but he is almost ready to let go.
"more words."
@ Myrrine
A part of him marvels that he doesn’t feel it more, but perhaps that is simply what happens when you lose part of your soul. Sure, the right side of his face is all blister and singed skin, half of the flesh burned away as a result of the dragon’s attack. His right hind leg is useless, swinging listlessly as the once-proud prince shuffles forward. His right wing is ragged and crooked, held awkwardly as a result of the horn that gouged into him in the horrific attack on the beach.
But all of that pales in comparison to the emptiness stretching like a void inside his mind.
Zarina’s body, cold and still, is settled upon his withers, held carefully between his folded wings. She is not dead – or if she is, he refuses to admit it – but she is not awake, and he feels not even the slightest tickle of her mind within his own. She has been unconscious since the attack – merely a day before – and if he cannot get her to a healer soon, he knows that she will perish. Already she is slipping away, despite his repeated attempts to lure her back into the land of the living.
He is not far behind her, in truth; his movement is agonizingly slow and painful, his vision hindered by the burns that destroyed his right eye. There is little chance that he will make it to a herdland, or find anyone with whom he can find refuge, not before the end comes to claim him. If only it had ended on the beach, if only the pair that had attacked him had heeded his begging and ended his suffering. But no – their cruelty ran deeper than that.
But the Ancient Rotunda is as good a place as any to die. The stallion winces as he leans against a pillar, the gently waving cloth that drapes the entrances caressing his bruised and battered frame. How many memories this place holds for the stallion – probably more than he can remember, given his history. It is blessedly deserted now, leaving him alone to process the end of what has been a thoroughly miserable existence.
He is scared, but he is almost ready to let go.
"more words."
@ Myrrine
Quilyan
counting on the night for a beautiful day;
subtlepatterns.com | kaydeniro & larfsalot @ deviantart
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Use of force and/or magic (with the exception of death) is allowed at all times.
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Use of force and/or magic (with the exception of death) is allowed at all times.
Want to plot with Quilyan? Visit his plot page here!
